


the bricks that build a home

by alcoholandregret



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Magical Realism, Pining, Slow Burn, if you choose to see it that way I suppose, other pens and devils are mentioned, so ignore pretty much everything about the real world here, the amount of handwaving i've done could start a hurricane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:43:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/pseuds/alcoholandregret
Summary: The first thing he does when he gets home is go to the park. He goes, and he sits on the swing that, by all accounts, shouldn’t be able to hold him anymore, but it's somehow just as sturdy as it was when he was young. He says nothing, not for a while, just sits and stares at the grass at his feet.“There’s this boy,” he tells the quiet air around him. “He, uh- I like him a lot. God, I-” he rests his head against the rope, right above his hand, and sighs. “I think it’s good this time.”It really has - in the past, at least - felt like the forest listens to him, and right now he could really use a response."I love him."





	the bricks that build a home

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah like I said in the tags uh, so much of this is just because that's the way I pretend things are (also because I started writing this last January, so I was pretty much allowed to do what I wanted) like conor is still a penguin and ry cloud isn't an oiler and mikey isn't in bing and the devils don't suck yknow that kinda deal. I'm here for a good time not a long time
> 
> anyway have fun

There’s a little wooden swing in the woods by Jake’s childhood home. The first time he stumbles upon it, he’s chasing a stray soccer ball that Gabe had kicked too hard into the treeline. After yet another lost round of nose goes - he’s never been good at it - he’s the one that has to go run into the trees and find it.

He does find the ball quickly, but a little further up ahead, he’s _pretty_ sure he can see something through the trees, so _obviously_ he has to go investigate. In a little clearing, so little it can hardly even be considered that, is a swing in name more than anything else - a plank of wood tied to the lowest branch of a maple tree with some rope. Part of him wonders what the point of putting such a makeshift swing in the woods right next to a park with _actual_ swing sets could possibly be.

Curious, Jake pushes it gently with the hand that isn’t holding the soccer ball, and then he tugs on the rope to make sure it’s sturdy enough to hold a person; it is. He sits down gingerly and toes at the ground below him as best as he can, trying to get the swing to go a little bit so he could properly test it out.

A shout of _“Jake!”_ from the treeline has him booking it back towards the park. He doesn’t want his brothers to worry of course, but mostly he just doesn’t want them to come looking for him - doesn’t want them to find the swing. As pointless as it may seem in its location, it still feels like it’s an important secret for him only. Like the swing was put there _for_ him.

“Get lost or something?” Ryan laughs, looking relieved that Jake is still in one piece.

“No! The ball was stuck in a tree,” he protests, hugging it to his chest and sticking his tongue out.

Ryan easily takes the ball from his grasp and holds it over his head with one hand. “Oh yeah? Then how’d you get it out, shortstop?”

Jake jumps for the ball once before crossing his arms and pouting.

“I _climbed_ it.”

“Sure,” Ryan grins before taking Jake’s hand in his. “It’s time to go. Mom said to be back by now.”

He wants to protest, but then he remembers that they’re having mac and cheese with dinner, so he skips alongside his brother, excited for the next time he’ll be able to come back to his swing.

It ends up being a couple of months before he’s able to visit Fort Jake - he’d come up with the codename in case he ever accidentally let its existence slip to anyone, even if it isn’t a fort at all. It wasn’t that he wasn’t able to make it to the park before that, it just took a lot of begging to get his parents to finally let him go without his brothers.

His mother hands him a little penguin shaped kitchen timer, the one he’d insisted that she buy when they were at a garage sale earlier that year, and she sets it to forty-five minutes with clear instructions to come straight home when it goes off. And be very careful. And don’t talk to strangers. And I love you.

He gives her a hug and puts the timer in the pocket of his sweatshirt, running to the park as fast as he can so he can get in as much time as possible. Of course, when he gets there he looks around him to make sure no one sees him go into the woods. What kind of secret base would it be if people saw him come and go?

The area around the swing, it turns out, is a little different than the first time he’d been there. The days that had passed brought ivy and flowers on the forest floor, some twisting around the tree trunks in untidy patterns. He follows some with his finger, as far as he can see them climb, and it reminds him of the roadmap he got to hold sometimes on road trips, with all their twists and turns and intersections. Part of him wonders if the vines are a map, too. Where would they take him?

The air smells sweet and light, and he can’t help but look up at the sunlight that barely makes its way through the leaves, somehow keeping him warm despite the shade of the forest overhead.

He sets the little penguin in a hole in the side of an oak tree next to the swing before he hops on it.

Everything about the area makes him feel so comfortable and at peace that it feels like hardly any time has actually passed when the penguin starts chattering beside him; time to go home.

Jake feels like maybe that little part of the forest is magical; that time really _is_ different there, and if he isn’t careful, he can get lost in it and never go home.

His brothers would say he needs to stop reading so many fairy tales, but he still believes it.

Even after his parents trust him enough to go without the timer, generally with the instruction to just be home before nightfall, he takes it anyway, placing it in the oak tree where it belongs. Maybe fairy tales and magic and all those things aren’t real, but he isn’t going to chance it. Besides, the penguin keeps him company, in a way.

He never feels alone when he’s at the swing, though, maybe it isn’t because of the penguin.

He goes to Fort Jake less frequently as he finishes up elementary school, but as middle school progresses, he has newfound reasons to go. Nearly a year since he’d last been there he finds himself making his way through the trees, hands in his pockets. At almost fourteen, he isn’t sure the swing would still be there at all, let alone in one piece strong enough to hold him.

It is, though, in seemingly perfect condition. It's strange- the only real sign that much time had passed since that first time he’d found himself in this spot is the tree branch’s slow consumption of the rope tied around it.

Where he used to go to have fun on a swing and enjoy the secret place that he had all to himself, now Jake goes to sit and stare up at the little bits of blue sky through the leaves as he slowly pushes himself back and forth, just rocking his feet from heel to toe. It serves as a good place to think; alone and peaceful, he can get lost in his own head. But unlike the magic he worried about as a child, he finds comfort in it.

The penguin finds permanent residence in the hole in the oak, no longer needing to make the trip to and from - its chattering no longer needed to bring him back to reality.

As school gets more and more stressful with age and hockey gets more and more important, he finds he’s spending a lot more time in this little place in the woods. He sneaks out at night to stare at the few stars he can manage to see on clear nights, pondering how far hockey could take him - how far he could _make_ hockey take him. How hard he’s going to have to work to get anywhere. Would he make it to the NHL? What could he possibly do if the hard work doesn’t pay off and he can’t land a spot on any team?

Instead of wondering any further, he makes a decision. It _will_ get him somewhere.

A sophomore in high school, he presses a hand to the maple tree, tightly gripping the rope of the swing in the other, and makes a promise to the darkness around him.

_“I will make it. I will play in the NHL.”_

And maybe he doesn’t believe in magic anymore, but when a baby deer wanders through the trees in front of him, seemingly unbothered by his presence, he thinks that maybe the forest is listening to him.

From the moment he first saw the swing until he graduated high school, there was only one person he ever considered taking to Fort Jake.

His name was Alex, and he was one of the best defensemen their high school hockey team had. They became fast friends when Alex moved to the area halfway through their junior year. Jake spent a lot of time sitting on the swing during the summer before their senior year - and then throughout the school year, wondering what all of this meant for them.

Wondering what it meant when he ended up with too-strong feelings that were just a bit to the left of platonic.

Wondering what it meant when the two of them seemed to push “just bros” to its very extreme.

Wondering what it meant when they kissed on a park bench - the very park outlined by Jake’s woods - after their last hockey game as seniors. As teammates.

Not enough, it turned out, when Jake asked him about it a week later and Alex laughed, not trying to be mean, but it still stung.

He promised not to tell anyone, though, a pinky promise that doesn't make Jake feel any better, but it does make him believe that it'll be kept at least; he figures it'll be okay.

There was a period of time where he still imagined taking Alex to the swing before graduation. Sharing its history and consequently a huge part of himself with his friend, almost like a promise.

In the end, they hardly spoke by the time graduation rolled around.

He goes the night of the ceremony, sneaking out of the house once more, even though he really doesn’t need to anymore. Jake sits down on the swing and shuts his eyes, focusing on the familiarity of the rough rope in his hands. He tries not to think of what could have been, but it’s nearly too hard.

A gentle breeze whispers for him to open his eyes and the sight of budding flowers all around him reminds him it’s the future he needs to be focusing on, not the what ifs. As always, the forest found a way to bring him some comfort in its own way.

He thanks the maple tree before he leaves, patting it gently.

He thanks it again before he leaves for college.

He thanks it again when he’s drafted to the Pittsburgh Penguins, holding onto the small, worn down penguin timer he’d bought for that team. He turns it around in his hands a few times before placing it back in the oak.

“I’m going to keep my promise,” he announced, and the rustling of leaves in the wind overhead feels like a response. An acknowledgement. A promise in return.

He sits on the swing three years later, two months after signing his ELC - the day before he’d finally leave to get his season started in Pennsylvania where he’ll land in Wilkes-Barre Scranton. He sits there and thinks about how hard he’s worked to get to this point, and how much more work there is yet to do. It’s overwhelming, in a sense, but comforting in another.

He’s only getting started.

And maybe at twenty-one he’s too old to be going to the swing, but it’s more of a comfort than almost anything else.

“I’m probably going to get called up for a couple games this season,” he whispers, staring at his feet. “That’s what they said, at least. I hope so.”

He sits there for longer than he has in a while, thinking about not only playing for his childhood team but on the same team as Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin and Phil Kessel and the list goes on and on. The defending cup champions. He imagines a day when he’d be a real member of the Pens, not just some kid that gets called up sometimes. He imagines a day where he’d lift the cup with his team - a cup he helped _earn._

A bird somewhere nearby starts singing, and Jake nearly falls off the swing, startled out of his own head.

And so he leaves for Pennsylvania.

And then, almost two months into the season, it happens. He gets called up. And he shoots. And scores - his first shift, first shot. And he shoots a second time, _scoring_ a second time.

He’s not upset when he gets sent down. It’s what he was expecting to happen, after all.

But he gets called back up and _stays_ up. He stays up on the first line, playing with Sidney fucking Crosby.

They make the playoffs. They have a chance. And he just keeps scoring.

The leading scorer in the postseason, he thanks Fort Jake mentally as he lifts the cup over his head, wondering if it could feel it all the way from Nashville.

On his first day home, he goes back, pulls the timer from the oak tree, and holds it in his hands when he sits down.

He accomplished what he promised here as a sophomore in high school and more than that; he accomplished what some people spent a lifetime chasing in his first year in the NHL.

What some people never manage to accomplish. Year  _one._

Still, for the first time in years, he finds himself thinking about Alex.

Alex, who was _so good_ at hockey, who was a light in his life for the short time he was in it. Alex, who is an accountant who only kind of follows hockey and has a wife and a kid and couldn’t be further from the Alex he knew. The one he’d pictured spending some amount of time with, too young to think about forever.

He twists the ring of the penguin’s torso and smiles at the hushed clicks of the seconds ticking by.

Part of him, a very small part, wants to bring the Cup here when it’s his turn to have it. It felt right, in a way, like somehow this small spot in the woods by a playground, hidden from everyone, held as much of a role in getting him to the point of lifting it as every coach he’s had.

It feels like it’d be a proper thank you.

But of course he wouldn’t actually bring the _Stanley Cup_ into the woods. He can always bring his ring here next summer, anyway.

The penguin goes off, and he pats the maple tree before putting the timer back and heading home, hoping that that’d get the notion across.

That summer, he spends a couple of hours at Fort Jake - yes, it feels ridiculous calling it that at his age, but he also really doesn’t care - mostly just thinking about the future of the Penguins. About _his_ future with them. How far would they get in the next season? Could they make it to the finals three years in a row?

The last day before he leaves again, he sits on the swing and actually properly pushes off the ground, going back and forth, focusing on the breeze and the smell of autumn approaching, not thinking of much at all.

When he drags his heels and comes to a stop, he wonders the odds of finding someone like Alex that wouldn’t end in the same way. He doesn’t want to put a label to it, mostly because he didn’t want to ponder the possibility of actually finding a boyfriend. It just feels weird to consider.

His heart heavy, he pats the tree and leaves.

“Until next year.”

Then, next year rolls around, and he returns again, empty-handed. He loves home, loves his place in the woods, but he was hoping to not return until June again.

Instead, there he sits at the beginning of May, twisting the 2017 cup ring around his finger, with nothing to show for the past several months he’s been gone, save for the few bruises he’d sustained in the last series.

The air is still around him, and it almost feels like the forest is holding its breath for him. Jake sighs, breaking the silence, and a soft breeze picks up. He huffs out a little laugh and pats the maple.

“It’s alright.”

It is. He’s fine. Can’t win it every year.

He’s just… lonely.

Not that he’d want to admit it, but it’s been creeping up on him, and, here… it’s much more intense. Maybe it’s because he’s always felt like he can be really honest with himself here. And if he’s being honest, everything kind of sucks right at this moment. Instead of spending his summer still high from a win - a pair of dreams coming true, he spends it dreaming new ones that sometimes alleviate the ache in his chest and sometimes worsen it.

He dreams of the day he can finally take someone to where he sits alone. Someone he could share this magic with. Someone who wouldn’t think that this place is stupid, or that Jake is childish for still spending so much time here. Someone who’d understand - who’d realise how big of a place this little corner of the world really is.

Jake doesn’t wish for hockey before he leaves this year, only wishes a little magic follow him to Pittsburgh. A guide of sorts, to find something. Anything.

Maybe he doesn’t _actually_ believe in magic, but it’s never been a bad thing to hope, in his experience. As he slows to a stop, he just barely notices a patch of red flowers a little further into the forest, and he can’t help but feel that little bit of hope blossom in his chest - a flower of his own.

There’s a small smooth stone at the base of the oak that catches his eye when he stands to leave, and he takes it without thinking twice.

It takes residence on his bedside table in Pittsburgh.

-

The team goes out after games often enough, and of course, sometimes teammates go out with friends from the team they’d played that night to catch up. He hadn’t gone along on that kind of thing often last year, but now he finds himself tagging along more often than not, and even in circles where he doesn’t personally know any of the others, he still has a good time.

After their second game of the season against New Jersey, Olli, Justin, and Conor ask him to go with them to see Lovejoy and Hall, and he agrees without thinking too much about it.

Given what little he _does_ know about Hall - mostly through Schultzy - he supposes he shouldn’t have been surprised when he shows up with one of the younger Devils under each arm, a third in tow, proudly announcing “it’s take your kids to party day!”

“Fun dad strikes again,” Conor laughs, slinging an arm around the one Taylor doesn’t have a hold on - McLeod.

“Fun is a pretty strong word.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love me, Michael.”

After that, it doesn’t take long to devolve into what must be normal for this group - Justin and Taylor get into some kind of obviously long-standing argument that Jake couldn’t follow if he tried, while Conor tries to jump between taking sides in that and helping Olli and Rev tell Hischier and Bratt dumb stories about Sid. He knows that, logically, he’d have an easier time worming his way into that conversation, but truth be told he doesn’t really have anything to add.

Quietly moving to stand between Olli and Bratter, he figures he’ll just listen in. Maybe Rev has a story he hasn’t heard before.

Halfway through Olli’s first tale - much more convoluted than Jake feels is absolutely necessary, but that’s how Sid stories tend to go - McLeod taps him on the shoulder, smiling slightly down at him. He smiles back before he can even think to do it to be polite.

“You seem like you’ve heard this before.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, not sure what else to say.

“I would pretend I don’t know who you are and be all casual like-” he puts one hand on his hip and changes his tone, imitating himself “-’it’s Jake, right?’-” he goes back to his normal voice “-but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t pull that off if I tried.”

“Right,” he laughs, a little uncomfortable, “and you’re Micha-”

“Mikey,” he corrects with the speed of someone who has been telling people that for years. “It’s Mikey.”

“Okay,” Jake nods. “Mikey.”

He turns back to the group in front of him and only just barely hears Mikey make a noise that sounds frustrated.

“Your goal last night,” he starts, drawing Jake’s attention back to him. “I uh- I saw it on the highlights this morning. Real fuckin’ impressive.”

“Thanks?”

Mikey beams and Jake smiles slightly back at him, but he doesn’t continue the conversation. Instead he turns back towards the others again in an attempt to push down whatever feeling that smile tried to stir up, but it works out when he turns just in time to get drawn into a story about him and Conor that he needs to clear up some details on. It turns into an amusing argument over who said what, and by the end of it, Jake’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

He somehow finds himself in a group chat with Conor, Nico, and Jesper that was deemed ‘The Kids’ Table.’

All in all, it was a pretty good night, and the Pens head off to their hotel ready to crash. Jake didn’t even notice the lack of Mikey’s presence as they all said their goodbyes.

The next day when they board the plane, Conor sits next to him instead of beside Muzz. Jake looks at him quizzically, and he takes out one of his headphones when Shears motions to do so.

“It’s not really any of my business, but do you have a problem with Mikey?”

“Mikey?”

“McLeod,” Conor clarifies as if that’s why Jake was confused. “‘Cause if you do, I can make sure the two of you d-”

“Wait,” Jake interrupts when the words catch up to his brain, “why would I have a problem with him?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Taylor said he was moping around last night. Apparently, _you_ hate him.”

He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back against the seat.

“Why would he think that?”

“Don’t know. You’d have to ask him that. I guess he’s not used to people not falling for his _charm_ , so he’s bugging Hallsy, who is on _my_ case and Justin’s too, I think. So _please_ get him to stop.”

Jake racks his brain for some part of their interactions - few and brief - that could possibly lead him to jump to those conclusions and comes up short. In fact, that dumb blinding smile of his feels like it’s been burned into the back of his mind - branded there from how bright it was. Regardless, there’s no definitive evidence that he can think of to show for Mikey's bad mood, but apparently he _did,_ so whether or not _he_ felt like he needed to, Jake wants to apologise.

“Yeah, I’ll just- I don’t have his number.”

“I’ll get it,” Conor waves his phone around for a moment before opening his messages.

After that, it only takes a few minutes for him to nudge Jake with his phone, a phone number displayed on the screen.

He adds the number to his contacts, sending a simple _is this Mikey?_ as though he didn't already know that it is. Then again, maybe Conor was fucking with him or something. Who knows.

_yeah who are you_

Jake puts his other headphone back in, settling in for the relatively short flight back.

_Jake_

The little typing bubble is there for a long time, far too long, really, considering the only thing the message ends up saying is _guentzel?_

He laughs a little.

_No the other one_

_there's a lot of other jakes asshole u aren't special_

He doesn't even have time to process that before he gets a quick string of messages.

_that was a joke_

_I'm not a dick I promise_

Jake just blinks at his phone, finally stopping him before he can finish typing another message. _I figured_

_good_

Now he could go one of two ways here, like, jump straight into the apology, or- well, Mikey  _did_ just pull similar shit, so.

_Heard you were being a child_

_what_

_Pouting to Hall about something_

_wait Are you an asshole_

The laugh that escapes his chest hurts his stomach and earns him a questioning look from Shearsy, who he waves off and shakes his head.

_Nah. Sorry I upset you_

_I'm not upset_

_I meant last night_

_no it's okay_

He could leave it at that, but he's too curious to not ask.

_What'd I do? jw_

_nothing_

_Mikey._

_nothing! just didn't seem to want to talk to me_

Oh. Shit, he did it again.

 _I do that a lot sorry_ and then _Nothing against you_

_youre fine. gotta go_

Jake sighs, sending off _Cool see u later_ which he realises too late was pretty stupid because he almost definitely would not be seeing him anytime soon. Like, they play the Devils again in just under a month, sure, but he’s not sure if he’d even go out - or if he does if Mikey will, or-

Conor pokes him in the arm and gives him a thumbs up before showing him the text on his screen - _thank fuck. he stopped_ \- that he assumed was from Hall, but he couldn’t tell for sure because the contact name is just finger guns and a heart, so who knows. He returns the thumbs up anyway.

That’s the end of that.

-

Well, it should have been. Really. An apology and there it is, that was it, end of story, fin.

Then, as he finds out through the sparsely used group chat a week later, Mikey apparently slid into the boards weird and is day to day with _something._ Something. It’s not something he should care about all that much - not a friend, or a teammate, and day to day is hardly serious, but. Conor had asked. It was _Shearsy_ that had started the conversation - _is Clouder okay he won’t answer me_ \- so maybe it’s the fact that he knew it had happened that has Jake feeling concern weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it’s that Mikey isn’t answering him. Maybe it’s Nico’s explanation ending with _something._

Something.

There is no reason at all to expect a response when Conor hadn’t gotten any, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right? It’ll, at the very least, make Jake feel better, if only minimally.

_Hey how are you holding up_

It isn’t until after he hits send that he feels stupid for it. For doing it, for wording it like that, for even remotely expecting a reply, for annoying Mikey, for-

_I’m ok thanks_

Oh.

He starts and erases about seven replies, trying to decide on how the fuck to respond to that - he didn’t think he’d get this far, okay - but it doesn’t matter, because Mikey texts him again before he can figure it out.

_actually can I call you_

And again-

_that’s weird I know like you don’t have to say yes_

Yeah, it is a little weird, but also, maybe it isn’t. Regardless, he has nothing else to be doing, so-

_Go for it I don’t mind_

“Sorry,” Mikey says as soon as Jake answers the call. “I just… needed to hear someone’s voice I guess.”

Jake smiles sadly at that, because he’s been there, and it’s never really a fun feeling. “Don’t you have teammates for that?” he jokes, not unkindly.

“Are you kidding,” Mikey laughs, “I hear them _too_ much.”

“Right of course. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, even though that isn’t any of his business.

“Yeah, it’s more like a precaution thing. Not worth risking anything in November, y’know? It sucks, but I’m fine.”

He’ll take him at his word there, even if there’s an itch in the back of his mind telling him it’s a lie. Not that the injury is actually serious, but that Mikey’s fine. It’s not his place in any capacity to make that assumption, but he won’t answer Conor apparently, so maybe there’s something there. Again, not his concern - even if he is, in fact, concerned. Just a little.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, and it sounds sad, and he _wants_ to ask.

“There’s this place downtown, well, it’s not really _downtown,_ ‘cause it’s across the river. Anyway, it’s just. A little platform on the side of Mount Washington, but it has a great view of the city.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jake swallows, and he doesn’t know why he started talking about this. Mikey said he needed to hear someone’s voice and he doesn’t seem to want to talk about the injury, so his brain started spitting out words before he could think to do it. Now he’s gotten himself into this, but as long as he’s not told to stop he might as well see it through. “It’s one of my favourite places to go, especially at night. Pittsburgh is really pretty, y’know? And with the lights at night and the rivers, it’s just... something you’d need to see, I dunno.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” and he sounds genuine, which is a relief. “What’s your favourite place, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said it was _one_ of your favourites. I’m just wondering what tops that.”

“I’m not sure,” Jake says honestly, shrugging even though Mikey can’t see it. “North Shore is a good one for similar reasons. The Point is great too, because it’s kinda just relaxing. And the bridges which sounds dumb, but there are these locks - it’s whatever. Not important. There’s a lot to love I think.”

“I don’t know what any of that meant, but it all sounds cool.”

Not wanting to do _all_ the talking, he asks “is there anything in Jersey that you like a lot?”

“Honestly I haven’t been here long enough to find anything,” Mikey replies quietly, and Jake wonders if he somehow pushed the wrong button. Before he gets the chance to apologise, though, he continues. “Well, there’s this one place on the shore that my mom and I went to when she was down here last year after my surgery. It’s nothing special, but it makes me think of her I guess.”

“That’s really sweet. I uh, I didn’t know you had surgery last year.” He really doesn’t know anything about Mikey at all beyond the absolute basics. Like, first round pick a few years ago and not really anything past that, actually.

“Yeah, on my knee. It-” he takes a breath that’s so heavy Jake can hear it so clearly it’s almost like he can feel it in his own chest “-it fucking sucked.” He punctuates it with a short, bitter laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s over and done with,” he sighs, “no need to be sorry.”

Something occurs to him, and like, he tries really hard not to mention it, because he knows very well he shouldn’t, but the realisation fights its way out of him anyway.

“You’re worried about it aren’t you?” he asks softly.

“My knee? No, I-”

“No like, whatever it is now.”

“Why would I be? It’s not a big issue, just gotta rest ‘n ice my shoulder and shit,” he says it like the words are fragile - false truths spun of thin pieces of glass. Like he can’t even make himself believe them, and it makes something in Jake’s chest ache. He’s had injuries before, but nothing like what Mikey went through with his knee, so he can’t imagine what it must be like. He doesn’t say anything, just lets Mikey’s shaky words hang in the static silence.

Then the glass tips over, and it’s almost like he can hear it shatter.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big issue, either,” Mikey’s so quiet it’s almost hard to make out the words. “It was supposed to go away.”

“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” and he is. He really fucking is.

“It doesn’t- it doesn’t hurt as bad. Not even close, and I was even given the option to keep playing. Just check in with the trainer before games, y’know? So I know it’ll be fine. I _know_ that, but I don’t _feel_ like,” he stops himself and takes another deep breath. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Neither does Jake. None of this makes any sense to him. He doesn’t know why he texted Mikey, doesn’t know why he asked Jake to call him, doesn’t know why he said yes, doesn’t know what made Mikey feel like it’s okay to be this… vulnerable. Which, it is, of course that isn’t a problem. It’s a lot, but it’s also not anything that needs to be apologised for. It’s unusual, is all.

Mostly, he’s just glad that Mikey let that out.

“It’s okay.”

“I think I’m gonna call my brother,” he says after a moment. “Thanks for-” he pauses, as if trying to find the right way to word it “-everything.”

“Anytime,” and he finds himself genuinely meaning it.

“Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Mikey hangs up, and Jake drops his phone onto the couch next to him.

This isn’t how he saw his afternoon going.

Some part of him, some small space in the center of his chest, aches for this kid he doesn’t even know. This kid that, he decides at that moment, he’d like to know.

-

They don’t talk _often_ after that, but it’s more than he would have expected back in the bar that night. Occasionally they’ll talk briefly about their days, or if one of them manages to catch the other’s game, they’ll talk about that, just little stuff. Jake finds himself watching Devils games close to any time he gets a chance.

Sometimes they’ll talk on the phone, and it’s pretty rare, but Mikey’s voice is comforting in a way. It’s soft and kinda calming.

Jake has never been the phone call type, definitely more of a texter, but it's different with Mikey.

The morning of the home game against the Devils arrives so fast it almost feels like he doesn’t get the chance to blink. He gets a text from Mikey almost as soon as he walks into his apartment after morning skate.

_are u going out after the game today_

_Don’t know yet why_

_dunno if I want to ig_

Jake sets his bag down by the door and goes into his fridge to get a drink, trying to think of the best way to respond to that. Maybe he’s reading into it a little bit, but it almost feels like Mikey’s decision depends on whether or not he’s joining whoever it is that ends up meeting up. Maybe it’s less reading into it and more projecting because that’s more or less how he's looking at this. He had fun last time, but still.

Fuck it, that might as well be what he goes with.

_I’ll go if you go?_

_sounds good :)_

He leaves it at that and goes into his room to get a nap in.

‘Whoever it is’ ends up just being Conor and Taylor, who disappear more or less immediately after they get there, leaving Jake and Mikey to go sit by themselves at a small table in the corner.

“I think we might have been interrupting something,” Mikey laughs as he sits down.

“What?”

Mikey blinks at him in disbelief before shaking his head with an amused grin, “never mind.”

Taylor appears then, two bottles of beer in his hand, which he sets down on the table with a sigh. “You’re lucky Con likes you, but for the record-” he points between the two of them “-I hate you both.”

“Aw, but _Taylor,_ we love you,” Mikey sticks his bottom lip out, pouting, and Taylor just laughs and pushes his face away.

“Whatever, kid.”

With that, he walks back over to where Jake can barely see an overly amused Conor looking in their direction.

“Are you even old enough to have that?” he jokes, gesturing to Mikey’s drink with his own bottle.

“Mostly,” he shrugs with one shoulder before taking a sip of it.

Fair enough.

Jake thinks for a moment, staring down at his drink. “How have you been?” he asks, looking back up at Mikey. It’s a pretty generic small talk starter, but he hopes the other knows what he actually meant. If not, then small talk it is.

“Better,” he smiles, and something about how it’s soft at the edges makes his stomach flip. “I owe you a lot.”

So he understands, and Jake can't help but return the smile. “You definitely don’t. I’m just glad you’re doing alright.”

He shouldn't be, it shouldn't really matter, but it does. At bare minimum, Mikey’s, like, a human person, so it’s nice that he’s feeling better. If it matters a little past that, then who’s there to tell? He isn’t sure if they’re even in _friend_ territory, y’know, so-

“You’re a good friend, Jakes.”

Oh. Okay.

“Jakes?”

Mikey shrugs and takes a sip of his drink, looking far too pleased with himself. “Mhm. Jakes.”

“Alright then.”

He looks back on everything for a moment, and it probably shouldn't still bother him, especially not after the friends thing, but the thing is, he hasn’t stopped feeling bad about it. About the bar in New Jersey, and pulling the same shit he always does, and the shit apology, and just. All of it, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For being a dick after last game, I dunno. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose or anything, I just have a habit of being a little… closed off around new people or something. Rusty calls me out on it all the time.”

“I feel like we’re a little past that one,” Mikey smiles softly, and Jake kinda wishes he’d stop looking at him like that, ‘cause it’s doing weird stuff to his chest.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

There’s a brief moment of silence while Mikey picks at the label on his bottle, and he doesn’t look up when he says, “it’s weird. The whole-” he waves a hand around “-thing.”

He frowns, like that isn’t right, which, yeah. That didn’t really make any sense, unless he’s saying that their friendship is weird, and like, as true as that may or may not be, it’s still a little… upsetting, to say the least.

“I miss my family, I guess.”

Oh. Right, that.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“It’s a little different for me-” he finally looks up “-I dunno. It’s kinda weird not having Ry on my team. Or Nate.”

“I mean they’re both-”

“In the system, yeah. Not here,” Mikey shrugs with one shoulder and downs some more of his drink. “It’s fuckin’ dumb, but it sucks.”

It’s not _dumb,_ a little odd, maybe, but not dumb. It’s only odd to begin with because of his specific circumstances nyway, and while Jake hardly knows the specifics of it, he does know that Mikey, his best friend, and his brother all got drafted to the same team. That doesn’t really happen.

“It’s normal to miss home,” Jake points out.

“Yeah.” There’s another beat of silence before he grins and kicks Jake’s leg under the table. “I hate you.”

“What did I do?” he laughs.

“You get too much information out of me. Are you some kind of spy or something?”

“Yes Mikey,” he deadpans, “I am a spy. And my only mission is to learn about _you_ and report back to the authorities. I’ll text them right now. _Homesick, I’ll see what else I can get outta him.”_

Mikey bursts out laughing at that, and wow, that’s- that’s a great sound.

“I knew it! It’s all been a _lie._ How could you?”

“I did what I had to do!”

Conor walks over then, looking surprised at Jake’s outburst, both hands held out in front of him. “Okay, why are we arguing? I thought you two got over whatever-”

Mikey and Jake share a look before losing it, both resting their heads on the table.

“I don’t-”

“Don’t tell me I missed something Con did. Please,” Taylor says the moment he’s within earshot.

Jake looks back up and Taylor has an arm thrown over a sputtering Conor’s shoulders.

“No, Con didn’t do anything,” Mikey says once he calms down a little. “But _Jake_ has been-”

“You’re going to blow my cover, Michael.”

 _“You_ already blew your cover, dumbass.”

“Wow so _I-”_

“Hey, yeah,” Taylor waves a hand in between the two of them, “what the fuck are you two talking about.”

“Government business,” Jake grins, and Mikey pretends to look scandalised.

“Them too?”

“Only one person would be boring, so-”

“Alright so I don’t want to know any more, actually,” Taylor says and sits down next to Mikey. “You two are fucking weird.”

Conor laughs at that, “oh yeah T? You’re gonna-”

“Why are you so mean to me?”

Conor and Taylor stick around after that, and the four of them talk about absolutely nothing for what feels like hours, but not in the bad way. It’s more in the “I’m having a lot of fun and I have no actual idea how much time has passed as a result” kind of way. Because he _is_ having fun, and it’s nice, like, really nice.

It almost comes as a surprise when Taylor's phone goes off and he makes a face at it before downing the last bit of his drink. "Alright, we gotta get going."

Mikey pouts, like, actually pouts and Jake has to fight the laughter that tries to bubble its way out of his chest. Hallsy just rolls his eyes at him and looks over at Jake, adding, "can you drive Clouder back to the hotel? Con drove me here and we gotta do something really quick. Kid needs to get some sleep."

" _I_ need sleep, old man?" Mikey laughs. "Ok _ay_."

"Can you drive him?" Conor asks, ignoring the now childishly quarrelling Devils.

There really isn't any reason that he can think of to not do it, other than 'we gotta do something' being vaguely suspicious. Like, he's pretty sure they're just trying to dump Mikey on him, which, fine, whatever. He won't complain about getting to spend a little more time with him. Besides, the hotel probably isn't all that far out of the way.

"Yeah, sure. Which hotel is it?"

"Nice," Mikey grins, giving two thumbs up as Taylor gives him the hotel information.

Goodbyes are pretty brief and Taylor and Conor hurry out of the bar, leaving the two of them to wander their way to Jake's car down the street.

"I feel like those two don't actually have something to do," he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.

"No," Mikey says slowly, "I feel like they do."

"Oh."

He chalks it up to not knowing Taylor all that well and shrugs it off.

They're silent for the rest of the walk, and Mikey's shoulder bumps against his every few steps, and Jake can't help but look up at the buildings stretching into the dark night, and he's always stunned by how full of love he is for this city he hasn't even called home for three years.

Mikey bumps into him again and something about the Steel Building feels more like home, right now.

"This was a lot more fun than the first time," Mikey smiles across the car as he waits for Jake to unlock it, and in the too-yellow light from the few lamp posts around, he can just make out that it's the soft one from before.

It's pretty late, and he has to remind the butterflies in his stomach that they aren't supposed to be awake at this hour. Or at all, in this particular case.

The smile is cute, okay? It'll happen.

"I don't know about that," he teases, opening the door, and it almost feels like his voice is too thick, "I'm not as fun as the whole group."

"Oh, definitely not," Mikey laughs as they slide into the car, "but you're more fun than you."

With exactly not one single clue as to what that means, Jake nods slowly. "Thanks?"

"Of course."

Mikey stares out the window as they go, and Jake tries his best to keep his eyes on the road and not on the way the light passes across his friend's face as they go, or the way the bright red of brake lights in front of them makes him look warm - like something he'd want to hold on to.

He looks good in red. Though, he knows that. It's like the universe put him in New Jersey for that reason. A good choice.

"I think this is one of my favourite cities so far," Mikey finally pulls his eyes away from the window as they get closer to the hotel. "It's pretty."

"It is," he agrees, barely above a whisper.

"Maybe I'll get to see more of it at some point."

"Yeah."

They pull into the parking lot and there's a brief moment of silence, Mikey unbuckles his seatbelt and grins, the too-wide goofy thing that stretches across his entire face. "Maybe I'll get to see more of you at some point."

Jake laughs at him and shakes his head. "We play each other again in a couple months, so I feel like your chances are pretty good."

"Hope so. See ya, Guentz. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime," he says as his friend gets out of the car, and he finds himself actually meaning it. Sure, it's easier to say that when you only see the person four times a year - only two of which when you have your car - but it's the principle of the thing here, okay?

Mikey waves and walks off, and the air feels different as Jake drives back to his apartment.

What a weird night.

-

Things get weirder, but in a way, there's just a new normal taking shape. Texting Mikey pretty much all the time and the more and more frequent phone calls was maybe a bit strange at first - from an outside point of view, at minimum - but now it's just the way things are. It's just the way things are, and it's better.

He's glad they agreed to meet after the game.

He's glad, even, that Conor had told him when Mikey was upset. Glad he'd been able to apologise, both at first and again at the bar.

He's just glad, when it comes right down to it, that he met Mikey. That they managed to become friends, rocky start and all. They just... clicked in a way he hasn't with anyone in a long time. At least it feels that way.

So they talk more, like, way more, and it's nice and everything, except-

He's not exactly sure when it started, this whole _thinking about Mikey at seemingly random times_ thing that he's had going on more and more as the days have passed. He's not exactly sure when just thinking of him transitioned into texting him whenever his name or his smile or stupid fuckin'  _endearing_  face pop into his brain. He's not exactly sure when texting him about it when it was happening transitioned into  _showing_ him, but here they are.

Here they are, and here he is, taking a picture of an especially fluffy cloud as he leaves practice, immediately sending it to Mikey. He doesn't say anything with it, unable to come up with something that  _isn't_  'saw this and thought of you :)'

Nevertheless, Mikey replies with a smiley face of his own, and Jake feels like he can be pretty sure he got the idea.

Really, why else would he send him a picture of a cloud, were it not for his place somewhere just behind the forefront of Jake's mind - ever present, if not still remaining in dim shadows more often than not.

Until more often turns into less often, and it's hard to tell if the light is getting too bright and the shadows are fading, or if Mikey is slowly inching forward, taking up more and more of his headspace.

It's both, maybe, he realises when Mikey calls him and tells him about how he saw a guy in a suit with shades and a briefcase and he was like, ninety-nine percent sure he was most definitely an FBI agent, and laughs when he explains that he immediately knew he had to ask Jake if they were friends. Or, even more dramatically, he'd been replaced as the Government's Official Mikey Spy, and how he'd be sad if that were true. It's probably better to be friends with your Government Spy than to have him just be some dude that lurks a few feet away at all times, just... watching.

It's stupid, and it makes Jake laugh, and it's so  _very_ Mikey that it hurts, almost. It's stupid, and it's so very Mikey, and Jake was the first thing he thought of when he saw just some dude in a suit - something no one would really associate with him in general. Let alone as a first thought.

The pictures of the clouds feel less foolish, and the shadows are fading as Mikey steps forward, and it's he who is casting the light that reveals him.

-

Not even a full week into the new year, Mikey calls Jake one afternoon, knowing they'd both be done with practice and home by then, and they stay on the phone all throughout the second half of the day. It is hardly as though they didn't speak much during the holidays - quite the opposite, actually - but it's almost like they'd both saved some stories for the next time they spoke. And there are a _lot_  of stories on both ends.

Mikey talks about watching World Juniors any chance he can, and how proud he is of Ryan, and Jake jokes back that, while he's been watching too, he still didn't feel all that bad that Team USA beat Canada in round robin again.

"Do or die," he laughs, putting his phone on speaker so he can start heating up dinner.

"Sure, fuckin' weirdo."

Mikey's New Years had been more exciting than his, he learns, but it means he gets to hear him talk more, so he definitely isn't complaining.

They talk about Christmas and traditions they used to have when they were younger, and Jake kind of can't believe that Mikey has only seen, like, one fucking Christmas movie ever.

The call ends up lasting far longer than he thought it would, and they both have the day off tomorrow, so it isn't like it _really_  matters, when it comes right down to it, but also, it's almost midnight and talking for almost seven hours is more exhausting than he'd have thought, so he sighs as he finally climbs into bed and plugs in his phone.

"We should probably get some sleep, huh?"

"Probably," Mikey yawns. "You're exhausting."

" _I'm_ the exhausting one?"

"Oh yeah, for sure."

"Whatever you say, Mikey."

"That's usually how it goes, yes."

"I'll bet."

"Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Of course," he says, because they both know he didn't even need to ask. It's a given that they will. When did that even happen?

"Sweet. Night, Jakes."

"G'night."

The moment his thumb presses the little red circle, something feels out of place. He can't even put his finger on it, instead chalking it up to nothing more than silence after such a long conversation. That's a pretty reasonable response to this kind of thing, he thinks. Not that there's a thing.

Alright, maybe there's... sort of a thing. Almost. Probably.

It's just. There's no reason for everything to have shifted ever so slightly to the left so suddenly, but it did. The phone didn't cast any light into the room, but it almost feels darker. Well, no, darker isn't really the right way to describe it - smaller, maybe. Like a more confined space, making Jake feel a little cramped.

At the same time, though, the silence makes it feel too big, too empty. It feels like he's dwarfed by his bed and the ceilings that grow with the shadows the moon casts through the ever so slightly drawn curtains as it moves higher in the sky. It almost seems as though, if he were to shout, there would be an echo. Mikey's voice replaced with a distant parroted version of his own.

Jake feels too big, too small, too cramped, too alone.

Alone.

Clutching a pillow to his chest, things go back to where they were, but the vague hollow feeling in his chest remains like the world wanted him to find out what was off, but at the same time offering no explanation for it - let alone a remedy.

He's alone a lot, it's never a problem. Honestly, he likes being alone. Why else would he have spent so many hours of his life by himself in the woods? Or in his apartment, as the case may be.

This isn't just  _alone,_  part of him knows. It's  _lonely_ but, again, he is offered no explanation. No remedy.

He didn't feel like this when he was on the phone, and Mikey is the only person he can think of that he can be nearly positive is awake right now; these are the things Jake tells himself to explain why he picks his phone back up and texts the friend he just spent hours talking to.

_Why am I not even tired_

It's a lie, mostly. He's tired - fucking exhausted - but at the same time, he can't sleep like this.

He only barely manages to see the receipt change from delivered to read before his phone vibrates with a call.

"Me neither," Mikey laughs as soon as he picks up. "I don't know why we hung up."

"Because we  _should_ be sleeping," Jake says, smiling to himself in his dark and empty room, no longer too spacious or too cramped. The small hollow space in his chest is filled with Mikey's voice.

"Right. That."

"I'd rather talk to you," he doesn't mean to say, even if he means it.

"I  _am_ pretty fuckin' awesome."

"How'd your equipment manager find a helmet big enough to fit your head?" he laughs, shaking his head.

"It's custom."

Soon enough the conversation dies down, turning more into occasional sleepy comments with brief responses than anything else, and the next thing he knows, Jake opens his eyes to a still lit phone on the pillow beside his head. Four forty-six in the morning, it tells him, along with the slowly increasing call time count.

Bringing the phone back to his ear, he faintly hears Mikey's breathing, and he wonders if he had fallen asleep with his phone still pressed to his face.

"Night, Mikey," he quietly says before ending the call, and something stirs in his chest as he settles down to get some more sleep.

There shouldn't be anything left to talk about once they both awaken later, but yet they still manage. They still manage, and Jake is just glad that their schedules managed to line up so they could have these two days to, well, essentially hang out - just from far away.

They don't seem to get another chance to have that anytime soon, their bye weeks didn't even line up. They adapt to each other's schedules easily and tend to be careful about sleep, but that doesn't stop Mikey from calling him at three in the morning on a day the Penguins play, drunk off his ass from celebrating his twenty-first with his American teammates.

Oddly enough, he finds that he doesn't mind it, even if he can't understand a goddamn word that's being said.

-

He goes out to Mount Washington late the night before they leave for the longest road trip of the season, and it’s definitely way too fucking cold to be up there. It’s not going to stop him, though, not when he knows he’s going to miss the city while he’s gone - always does. It’ll be worth it, even with the bitterly cold air burning his lungs.

Tugging his beanie down further over his ears, he walks out to the observation deck and leans out over the railing, just staring at the office lights on in the buildings. The one good thing about it being so cold - and so late at night - is there’s no one else here, and he highly doubts anyone will be any time soon. So he’s free to just enjoy the quiet night by himself.

By himself.

He’s never felt lonely up here, the solitude always a comfort, but now… now something’s missing.

He thinks about Mikey, suddenly, remembering when he first told him about this place, remembering their first  _real_ conversation and how it feels like that was just yesterday and, at the same time, years ago. Jake wants him to see it, wants him to know what it is he’s talking about, so he takes out his phone and takes a picture of the skyline. It isn’t great since it’s so dark, and he has no idea how to effectively use a phone camera - or any camera, for that matter - but it’ll get the general concept across at least. He doesn’t expect him to reply to it any time soon, but he sends it along with _It looks better in person I promise._

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, and he doesn’t even get to rest his arm on the railing again when it starts ringing.

“Hey,” he answers it, “why’re you awake?”

“In a different time zone right now, remember?”

“Right, of course.”

He leans back over the railing and stares out at the city, not looking at or thinking about anything in particular. It lasts long enough that he almost forgot he was on the phone, and when Mikey speaks again it startles him a little.

“The picture was really nice.”

“It isn’t even what it really looks like, either. Much better in person.”

There’s a brief pause before Mikey quietly says, “describe it to me?”

“The river’s frozen over, but the lights are still reflecting off of it, and it’s so clear it’s almost like a second city. And it’s like. There are _so_ many lights, Mikey. I don’t-” he takes a deep breath, “I don’t even know how to start. It’s just so pretty.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything, so he continues, not even trying to describe what he sees now.

“It’s really cold, but there’s no wind so it’s nice, kinda. I don’t know. It’s so quiet up here and it feels like there’s no one else in the world, but at the same time, all the lights in the offices are a reminder that it never stops.”

“I wish I was there,” Mikey whispers, and with that, it clicks.

There’s a reason he felt like something was missing - something _was_ missing. Mikey. He wants him by his side in that moment more than anything. He wants to see Mikey lit by the streetlights while he looks out at the city - _his_ city. Wants to see the small smile he got to see at the bar, the soft one that made his stomach flip. Wants to share it with him, wants to tell him little things about the city that he’s learned over the past couple years, wants to tell him how he wonders what it’s like to work so late, wants to have his laugh fill up the silent night, wants, wants, wants.

He wants Mikey.

 _That’s_ a future Jake problem, he decides. He’ll ignore it for now.

“Me too.”

Silence falls between them once again, and he doesn’t mind it. Part of it makes it almost feel like Mikey _is_ there, stood next to him, just taking it all in. There isn’t much to say up here, really. It almost feels like any words spoken would weigh too much, would be too difficult to let out. Quiet lays over the area, making the air nearly thick enough that it almost feels like you’d be able to cut it if you try hard enough. But it’s not a bad thing. It feels like a blanket, heavy but comforting.

They wouldn’t need words, Jake thinks. Just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, enjoying the night in compatible silence. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, Mikey’d look at him with that dumb soft smile, and Jake would have the courage to lean in and-

Maybe he can’t ignore it for now.

“I miss you,” they say at the same time, and he can’t help but wonder what made Mikey say that. What he’s thinking about, if it’s anything like what he-

No. Stop _that_ right there. He wasn’t.

“We’ll see each other in, like, two weeks,” Mikey says, and Jake just wants to be near him right _now,_ thanks. “At least it’s not that far away.”

“Still too long,” he doesn’t mean to say.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t want to be here anymore, the usually comforting blanket of air wrapping too tightly around him; re-weaving itself, twisting into a snake, and his chest is too goddamn tight. He bites down on his lip, wanting to cry all of a sudden.

“You should get some sleep,” he barely forces the words past the lump in his throat, “and I think I should go too.”

The office lights no longer feel like a reminder that time doesn't stop, instead they're beacons reminding him he's alone up here and in general, and the world doesn't care. It'll carry on anyway. His stomach churns.

“Yeah. Night, Jakes.”

“Good night, Clouder.”

He pockets his phone again and takes a shuddery breath, resting his elbows on the fence and burying his face in his hands. _Fuck._ He has no idea how he got himself into this mess, but he sure would like to get the fuck out of it.

At least it’s not a teammate this time.

He doesn’t want to think about it. Not on the drive home, not when he walks into an achingly empty apartment, not when he gets ready the next day, not when he gets on the plane, not when he sits with his head against the window and his phone lights up with a text - _safe flight._

He doesn’t want to think about it at all. Ever. Period.

It’s all he can fucking think about.

_Thanks. Good luck tonight_

_thx jakes :)_

He’s fucked.

The thing is, he has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with this kind of thing. His only plan is to wait for it to go away, which is exactly what he’s gonna do. The problem with that, he finds over the course of the road trip, is that it’s pretty much impossible to just get over it when he spends most of his free time talking to Mikey. The only thing he’s got going for him is the fact that he doesn’t have to _see_ him. Doesn’t have to see his overly pretty eyes or dumb endearing expressions, or. Okay, stop that train of thought.

It’s hard, okay? Not thinking about him is goddamn hard.

He has no clue when that started. When any of this started.

Jake just has to hope it’s over soon.

-

As the days of the roadie tick away, it occurs to him that maybe the best way to stop this is just. Stop talking to Mikey. Not completely, because he isn’t sure he could even do that, but just mostly should be enough. Maybe completely would be better.

He lasts exactly four days doing that - not opening Mikey’s texts and letting calls go to voicemail, even going so far as to turn off his phone on the third day when he got back to his apartment. It’s only just after six in the afternoon the next day when he turns it back on, wanting to see if Rusty wanted to come down and do something because there’s this loneliness that he can’t shake. He knows it’s because he hasn’t talked to who’s maybe his best friend at this point in days, but maybe he’ll be able to push it away with someone else’s company.

That thought withers away the moment his notifications catch up and a few texts from Mikey flash by before he can read them until the notification ends on the most recent one.

_dunno why ur mad at me but I’m sorry_

His resolve crumbles, and, remembering Mikey has an off day too, he immediately presses call. He didn’t even bother to read the messages he’d missed.

“Jakes,” Mikey answers almost immediately, sounding relieved. “I didn’t mean to do anything that-”

“Hey,” he says softly, mentally kicking himself for doing this, “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“But-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Mikey,” Jake assures him.

“If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Okay. Sorry for being annoying,” and Jake opens his mouth to insist that he wasn’t annoying at all, but Mikey adds “I just missed you” in a hurry. “I’m not used to not talking to you.”

That he understands. The loneliness that had settled in the pit of his stomach dissipated the moment he heard _Jakes._ Cutting him off completely was a shitty idea.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mikey says, and it’s not. It’s really not. “You had a good game last night.”

“Didn’t you play too?”

“Yeah, I. I recorded it and watched it after practice today.”

Jake’s heart does something funny at that, at Mikey going out of his way to watch his game, at Mikey caring that much. “Wish we coulda won for you, then.”

“Technically it’s actually better for me that you lost,” Mikey jokes, “so no worries.”

“You’re the absolute worst.”

“I know. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Being the worst?”

“Oh yeah for sure.”

Jake laughs, and he feels lighter for it in spite of the rock settling in his stomach.

Being home again is nice, fantastic, really. He’s got _his_ bed and his stupidly comfortable couch and - as much as he loves his teammates - time to himself for the first time in what feels like ages. It’s all a relief, and seeing downtown was like a breath of fresh air. The problem with being home, however - and it really shouldn’t _be_ a problem - is that their final game against the Devils is in just a very short handful of days. He’s going to see Mikey again, and he figures that’s going to be at least three to five steps back in the whole process of getting over it. Over him. And most of all? Over his own damn self.

So, the night before the game he comes to the conclusion that he just won’t do that. He’ll just go home after the game, give a most likely bad excuse and apologise to Mikey later. Then he won’t have to see him until October at the earliest and maybe it’ll be fine by then. It’s more or less the best plan he can think of, and he ignores the black hole in his chest when he checks his phone before heading to bed and there’s a text from Mikey.

_see u tomorrow!!_

Yeah.

He doesn’t respond, and he feels a little bad for it. He just… doesn’t want to lie, is all. That’d make it worse.

The next morning he waves to Mikey when they cross paths at morning skate, and the genuine smile on his friend’s face makes his stomach turn, and he doesn’t even know which reason that happened. Because it was Mikey? And he’s got that smile that Jake thinks about too much, and just seeing him put it there? Because he knows he isn’t going to actually hang out with him and he feels bad? Who knows. Probably all of them.

All he knows for sure is that this sucks, and he’s most definitely not doing the right thing here. The right thing isn’t always the _best_ thing, though, right? That sounds like sound logic.

On the bright side, he learns after the game that it’s going to be the larger group tonight, so he’s fairly certain Mikey will be alright hanging out with everyone else. It’s not really that big of a deal if he’s still gonna have that many people around. What’s it matter if there’s one less?

Despite the weird look Conor and Justin had given him when he told them, Jake convinces himself on the way home that not going out was the right call to make. He tells himself as he unlocks the door and enters his empty apartment, tossing his jacket over the back of the chair, that he isn't like, ghosting Mikey. He turns off his phone and takes a beer out of his fridge, and he isn't _ignoring_ Mikey.

Just taking a night for himself. He's allowed that.

It would be a dumb move to try to completely cut out Mikey, he knows, logically, as he sits down on his couch and scrolls through Netflix. Like, feelings or not, he's one of the most... unique people he's ever met, and he'd be an idiot to let that go. That doesn't sound like the compliment he means it to be, either.

There's no one like him, not in any way. Well, there's seven billion people on this planet, so you'd be hard pressed to say that, but, there's only one Mikey, and Jake's pretty sure if you cloned him like forty times and put them all in one room he'd still know which one is the real one. The others, no matter how accurate they turn out, would never match up to the real thing.

The smile wouldn't be as bright or wide, too off, or their eyes not the right colour or not nearly as expressive as he knows they can be. Maybe one would laugh and it wouldn't carry until it settles in Jake's heart and syncs with the beat of it. They'd hold themselves wrong, too high-and-mighty or too lax, not in the way Mikey stands tall, but still open.

He's mentally going through all of the things that make Mikey, well, _Mikey_ , when a knock on his door startles him out of it. He turns bright red, like he'd been caught, even though he wasn't _doing_ anything. Not to mention the person - probably Rusty - is still in the hallway.

Jake manages to settle himself down, opening the door without even bothering to look to see who could be outside, only to blink in surprise when he sees a very tired Schultzy and a bashful Mikey - and _that_ is definitely a weird look on him.

"This," Justin pushes Mikey into him with one hand between his shoulders, "is your problem now. Get him to the hotel at a reasonable time."

He walks back towards the elevator with a wave, and Jake hadn't even realised he'd caught Mikey with an arm around his waist on instinct, so he just quickly pulls it away like he touched something hot, which, well-

"I think Hallsy was gonna kill me," Mikey says, like that's supposed to explain why Justin just dumped him off at Jake's door. "Con said you didn't say why you weren't coming," he continues when Jake moves aside so they can go back into his apartment, shutting the door behind them, “and I don’t know. I wanted to see you I guess.”

“So you just… came to my apartment.”

Mikey shrugs and glances around, “like I said, Taylor said I was being a ‘sad puppy’ and made Schultz bring me here.”

Mostly, he tries not to think about that, because Mikey should have been able to have a good time with the others, but also, he’s Mikey, and he generally knows what it is he wants, and gets upset when he doesn’t get it. It’s not entirely like a toddler, because he also tends to fight to get it after that. So, like, a determined toddler.

“Am I being paid to babysit, then?”

“Only if you do a good job,” he winks, and Jake just squints at him, which earns him a laugh. “Nah, I just missed you and didn’t want you being a boring person all by yourself.”

“I missed you too,” he says honestly, but adds “but what if I wasn’t all by myself?”

Mikey’s face twists into something like a grimace before quickly changing back to normal. “Funny, Jakes. As though there’s anyone cooler than me for you to spend a Monday night with.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “sure, hotshot.”

“So,” he rocks back on his heels, “why didn’t you want to go out with us?”

“Didn’t feel like it, I guess.”

“Oh,” Mikey says and walks over to sit on the couch, “sorry. I can take an uber to the hotel, or something.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jake shakes his head, feeling bad if he somehow made his friend feel like he didn’t want to see him. He sits down beside Mikey and wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

That statement isn’t _untrue,_ so to speak, but it’s also not exactly the full truth. He really _had_ missed Mikey, and being in the same room as him again is great, but he’s still dealing with the whole feelings thing, and he had expected to spend the night being, admittedly, a big baby and ignoring them. Instead, here they are, laughing at him as he holds onto a boy that means too much.

“I tried to call you, but it went to voicemail.”

“Phone died,” he lies.

“Oh,” he deflates, like he was worried that Jake had done exactly what he actually _did._ That... doesn't feel great.

He lets go, leaving one arm over Mikey’s shoulders. “I was going to watch a movie but I couldn’t decide on one, if you want to pick?”

“Sure,” Mikey says, grinning, and he takes the remote from him. “What, like, genre?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He goes straight for the horror section.

“Okay, maybe it matters.”

He laughs, and the sound of it, as always, worms its way into Jake’s chest, and it feels like he’s able to breathe easier.

“I thought so.”

“What does that mean?”

“I could tell you’re a big baby about scary movies,” he looks way too smug, but in that stupid endearing way that Jake’s pretty sure only he can pull off.

“I am _not.”_

“Then prove it.”

He has to drive Mikey to his hotel, and then back _by himself,_ and then sleep in an empty apartment, so there’s no way he’s agreeing to that. Even if it makes him seem like the coward he may or may not be.

“Maybe another time.”

“I see right through you, Jakes,” he shakes his head, amused. “But I’ll spare you this one time.”

“A real gentleman,” he deadpans.

“Always. Does it have to be a movie?”

“I guess not.”

“Perfect.” Before Jake can even ask, Mikey puts on Always Sunny. “Even better.”

“Aren’t we both supposed to hate Philly?” Jake jokes.

“Sure, but why hate comedy?” He tosses the remote to the chair next to him and moves his feet so they aren’t tucked up against him, but instead of putting them on the ground or even on the coffee table, he puts them on the other side of Jake, settling against his side.

It’s a little hard to focus on the show when he’s got, like, a thousand different fucking things to be focused on here. First of all, it feels ridiculously normal - natural, even - to have Mikey in his space like this. In his apartment, he means, but also in his personal space, warm in all the places they’re touching. The light weight of Mikey’s knee resting against his chest, the way he can feel it when he laughs, both with the shaking of his shoulders and in the light puffs of air that hit his neck because his head is resting against Jake’s shoulder, all of it - it’s a lot.

It’s not a new feeling, like, this isn’t some grand realisation, but he could kiss Mikey right now, probably. He won’t, _obviously_ he won’t. But, fuck, he really wants to.

“Why do you hate being warm,” Mikey whines, wiggling as though he could get any closer to Jake. “It is so cold in here.”

“It’s February,” he laughs and adjusts the arm around his shoulder so he’s holding Mikey tighter, “it isn’t supposed to be warm.”

He looks at him, unimpressed. “We’re inside.”

“Fine,” he shakes his head, pushes Mikey’s legs out of the way, and stands up, “I’ll go get a blanket.”

Mikey grins, too smug, and takes his hand, standing up too. “Good idea.”

“I don’t think you need two people to get one blanket.”

Mikey just shrugs, and if he’s to be honest, Jake is mostly just focused on the hand in his, trying to will the butterflies in his stomach to just _relax_ as he leads the way to his bedroom. There’s, like, connotations here that he’d greatly prefer to ignore, thanks.

“You’re boring,” Mikey says the moment they enter his bedroom, letting go of his hand to go and stand in the middle of the room, spinning slowly like he’s looking at everything. “I knew it.”

“What are you talking about?”

He turns back to look at Jake and smiles slightly. “Your room is boring, so you’re boring.”

“It’s an apartment, dumbass,” Jake laughs, “it’s not gonna be exciting. Back home is different. More me.”

Mikey hums and nods. “I’d like to see that someday.” Before Jake can even begin to let that process, he turns and quickly adds, “at least you don’t make your bed.”

“Yeah,” he swallows through the lump in his throat and goes over to his closet to find the blanket that they came in here to get in the first place. “I just don’t see the point in it if you’re gonna sleep in it later anyway.”

“I’m gonna call Nater right now and I’m gonna need you to say that again.”

“I think I’d rather not get-” the _on your friend’s bad side_ dies on his tongue when he turns around, blanket in hand, and sees Mikey sitting on his bed.

“The argument’s been split forever,” Mikey continues like Jake stopping mid-sentence was normal. Or, more likely, he just didn’t care. “Like, Bas and Matt make their beds like some kind of weird adults, and Ry and I don’t like _humans,_ ‘n Nate said the Stromes’ opinions don’t count, so.”

Jake has no fucking clue what he’s talking about. All he knows is Mikey is sitting at the head of his bed and he won’t stop talking and Jake _loves_ him and-

Fuck.

“But you’d count, I think.”

“This seems like an argument I want no part in,” he says honestly, trying to compose himself as best as he can.

“That’s fair,” Mikey nods, and then, “alright so I tried to not ask, but _why_ do you have a rock in your room.”

“What?” Jake asks. Obviously he knows what rock he’s talking about - the one from the forest - but he wasn’t expecting the question, so sue him for being a little confused.

“The rock,” he points to the table. “Maybe I need to visit you more often if you have a pet rock. Or you should get a kitten,” he teases. “Didn’t know you were that lonely, Jakes.”

Ignoring that last bit, because it hit a little close to home even if it isn’t in the context Mikey means, Jake rolls his eyes. “If you ever just show up at my door I’m not letting you in, and I don’t have time for a pet, you know that.”

“You wouldn’t let me in?”

“Nope.”

“Funny, ‘cause you did today.”

Jake tries to give him an unimpressed look, but it probably just looks fond, given how his chest feels at the sight of Mikey smiling with his tongue poking out from between his teeth, trying not to laugh.

“You’re the worst.”

“I’d argue that I’m the best, but we’re all entitled to our own opinions.” He leans over and picks up the rock, only to suddenly drop it onto the floor.

Jake doesn’t know what he opens his mouth to say, considering his brain doesn’t feel connected anymore, but he doesn’t have to, because Mikey looks at him, confused.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was hot?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your weird rock,” he pokes at it with his foot. “It’s hot. Like, really warm.”

“I know what hot means. But it’s just a rock.” It’s never been anything else.

Mikey picks it up and tosses it to Jake, who barely catches it with the hand that isn’t holding the blanket. Still, it’s just. A rock. Not warm, certainly not _hot._

Jake can’t help but notice how genuine Mikey’s confusion seems as he stares at the rock as he sets it back on the nightstand, leaving him wondering if he was being genuine after all.

“C’mon, mouse,” he smiles softly, holding out a hand. “Back to TV.”

Mikey takes his hand and squeezes it lightly, looking up at him with a soft smile that’s small enough to leave its presence questionable at best. Jake knows it’s there. He’s seen this before.

“Mouse?” he questions.

“Mouse,” he confirms. “Mikey is close enough to Mickey, so-”

“Mouse,” Mikey finishes softly like it’s something fragile - precious, even. Something to keep safe. Jake doesn’t know why, it’s just a word. A little nickname. “I like it. It’s cute.”

“So are you,” Jake shrugs. The moment his own words catch up to him and he realises what he just said, his face feels like it’s on fire. “I mean-”

“I know what you meant,” he laughs, but his cheeks are a little red, too. “And you’re right. I’m _very_ cute.”

“Most people get rid of mice, you know,” Jake rolls his eyes and tugs on his hand to remind him they’re supposed to be going back into the living room, fairly certain he’d lose his mind if they stay in his bedroom any longer.

“That’s true,” he says, standing up, “but some people love them, in case you forgot about that.”

“That’s not really why they’re at pet stores, Mikey.”

He didn’t forget. He couldn’t forget. He’s well aware that he loves the boy whose hand feels so natural folded in his despite this only being the second time it’s happened. He knows some people love mice, and he knows he loves _this_ mouse.

“Jakes if you feed me to snakes I’m going to be really mad.”

“I think you’re safe,” he says, grateful that Mikey doesn’t let go of his hand once they settle back onto the couch, even though it makes it harder to properly wrap up in the blanket.

“I know I am,” Mikey breathes more than says as he sets his head on his shoulder again, this time pressing his forehead against Jake’s neck. The words are hot against his collarbone, and it makes him shiver.

It feels like those words carry more weight than is on surface level, and if that’s the case - Jake is thankful, all he knows for sure as they go back to the show is Mikey is safe with him without condition. He’s safe here, tucked into his side, under his arm when Jake lets go of his hand to drape it across his shoulders.

He’s safe here, in this apartment, warm under a blanket with someone who loves him.

It’s a lot in the best and worst way, and _I know I am_ rings in his ears like church bells, each word another note that vibrates through his skin, echoing in the places he’s warm from contact.

Mikey is safe, and Jake, for the first time since he sat on a park bench with Alex, feels like he is too.

It’s one of the many reasons he finds himself disappointed when another episode ends and he looks at the time, because, “we gotta get you back to your hotel.”

There’s that, and knowing this was their last matchup of the season, and just as such likely the last time they’ll see each other until maybe October. Or later. He wishes he could just freeze time and watch Always Sunny for the rest of time, and like, if a few short hours ago someone told him that would be even a passing thought of his, Jake might’ve offered them Tylenol and some water - clearly something must be fogging the mind, alcohol or a fever or _something._

Mikey seems just as reluctant, sighing and wiggling into Jake’s side, as though there’s any space between them he could take away. It makes it that much harder to get up, like when you have a small animal sleeping in your lap so you’re pretty much stuck there until _they_ decide it’s time to move, even if that takes forever. “Yeah, but we can watch _one_ more first.”

If he doesn’t put a stop to that right now, he knows he one hundred percent will end up giving in and playing the next episode, and Mikey probably knows that too.

“No, I am absolutely _not_ getting Hall on my case here,” he shakes his head and stands up, struggling to break free of the hold his friend has on him. “Get up,” he presses, taking his hand again to tug on it.

“Ry’s gonna like you,” he says as he stands up. Jake’s heart does something funny at that, the implication that he’s going to meet Mikey’s family. Which is kind of stupid, considering he only meant his brother - the one that very well might just make the team next year after what he’s been doing as captain in the O.

God, why does he know that.

He knows why. Whatever.

They get their coats and shoes on and head out into the hall, shutting the apartment door behind them, and Jake itches to take his hand again, but he knows better. Mikey puts the hotel’s address into his phone on the way to the car.

The car ride is silent for less than three minutes before Mikey breaks it with a barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I just,” he pauses, letting his head fall against the cold window, “showed up, and like, you didn’t want to see me, and-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, because that’s a train of thought that needs put to rest immediately, “when did I say I didn’t want to see you?”

Even if his intent was to _avoid_ Mikey, that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to see him. Of course he wanted to. More than anything, actually.

"You didn't  _say_ it, but you didn't have to. I dunno, like you said you were gonna go out with the team and then all of a sudden you didn't."

“I’ve been in a weird mood lately, I guess,” Jake says quietly. “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it, but-” he looks over at Mikey when they pull up to a red light, reaching over and squeezing his hand “-I don’t want you to feel like it had anything to do with you.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything, and the light changes.

“I’m really glad you annoyed my teammate into driving you to my apartment.”

Mikey snorts a laugh at that, turning to Jake again finally. “No, I annoyed _my_ teammate into it, but Hallsy told Schultzy that he owed him, and neither of them went into it but that worked.”

“So you annoyed your teammate who blackmailed mine?”

“I’d say cashed in on whatever it was that he was ‘owed,’ but yeah I guess.”

“You really don’t stop, do you?” Jake laughs, glancing over at him, “not ‘til you get what you want.”

“Determination runs in the family.”

He just shakes his head, and it’s really no surprise that he’s fallen for this kid. “I bet.”

Mikey starts telling him some elaborate story about something that had happened over the summer, and he’s only kind of able to follow it _and_ listen to the directions as the phone announces them, but he doesn’t really need to understand it. Not when just hearing him talk makes his chest settle in a way he hasn’t felt… ever, really. Something about him and how quickly he can go from soft spoken to excited to the point he’s quite animated is endearing. He adds that to the list from earlier.

No one could duplicate it - or the way it makes Jake feel.

He pulls into the hotel's drop off lane and puts the car in park, and neither of them move, just stare ahead in silence.

“I love you,” Mikey says.

“I love you too,” Jake replies, a reflex.

It doesn’t sink in until he looks over at Mikey, who’s smiling softly at him and it makes his stomach flip. _God,_ he wants so badly to just lean over and kiss him, wonders what would happen if he did. It’s not like they’ll see each other soon enough after it that it could pose any problems in that regard. They’d have time to get over it if that’s what needed to happen.

He remembers Alex, and swallows the thought. Best not to push any buttons he’s not ready to face the consequences of.

He trusts Mikey. He does. Jake trusts that if he, one day, doesn't manage to stop himself, Mikey wouldn't tell anyone about it and they'd be okay.

But if he's misread this, all of this, well... there's far more at stake now than there was in high school.

“Thanks for the ride,” Mikey unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you.”

He gets out and shuts the door, waving through the window before he walks off and into the hotel, and Jake lets his forehead hit off the steering wheel.

He’s _fucked._

The ride back to his apartment is comparatively quiet, and no matter how much he turns up the radio, it doesn’t seem like it fills the car right. He gets back to his apartment, and it feels emptier than it should. He goes through his nightly routine kind of in a daze, and none of that night felt real. Like it was all just some weird dream or something.

Jake picks up the rock once he sits down in his bed, running a thumb over it. Still cold.

He thinks back to the summer, to when he’d picked it up, wishing for a little bit of magic to follow him here. He swallows and puts the rock down, rolling over to go to sleep and not think about it. About any of it - about holding his hand, and Mikey sitting right where he’s laying now, and the magic, and _I love you._ Especially not the last part, because while maybe Jake had that realisation, he can’t assume Mikey meant it in the way he does. He’s heard him tell Nate he loves him on more than one occasion.

He just does that.

So, it’s better to let that one go.

Better to let all of this go. But still, everything is too fucking quiet, and his phone is in his hand before he even thinks about it.

“Hey, Jakes,” Mikey whispers when he answers. “Miss me already?”

“Obviously,” he deadpans, as if that isn’t exactly why he called.

There’s a quiet thud on the other line, and Mikey replies at regular volume, “I was gonna call you anyway.”

Jake laughs. “Yeah? Miss me?”

“Of course,” he says, amused. “Why else would I sit on a hotel bathroom floor?”

“Why are you on the bathroom floor?”

“I have a roommate, loser.”

Right. Duh.

“Well, glad I’m worth sitting on the floor.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Mikey says, and Jake can almost see the dumb smile he knows is on his face, “but you’re worth a lot of things.”

-

At the tail end of March, the Pens clinch a playoff spot. Mikey calls him to congratulate him.

Six days later, it’s Jake’s turn.

As the season starts to wind down to its very last handful of games, it’s starting to look like their first round series is going to be against the Devils. He tries not to think about it, and they don’t talk about it. And then it’s a sure thing, and he wishes it wasn’t. Not in the _first_ round, at least.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you a little early, huh?” Mikey says quietly the moment Jake answers his phone.

“Yeah,” and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither of them do.

They’re going to be in the same city for a week or so at least. That alone is more than Jake could wish for, but at the same time, he doesn’t think he can spend that time with him. No matter how much he wants to - how much he’s _going to_ want to. “Not until the end of the series.”

“I was gonna ask.” He sounds sad, and Jake hates it, but it’s not like he’s overly thrilled either. “If that’s what you wanna do, then sounds good.”

“Definitely not what I wanna do,” he laughs lightly, and it’s bitter on his tongue. “I think we should, though.”

“Yeah. Hallsy said he won’t be talking to Con until it’s over too.”

While not entirely sure how that’s similar to their situation beyond the teams, he does need to clarify one thing, “I’ll still want to _talk_ to you.”

“Me too,” Mikey sighs, relieved.

Realistically, not talking to someone for what’s likely to be a little over a week shouldn’t be difficult. It’s not that long, and there are a lot of other things to focus on in the playoffs, so while he knows _why_ it would be borderline impossible to not interact with Mikey off the ice, it doesn’t mean he thinks it _should_ be. Because it shouldn’t.

“Love you,” he says instead of any of that.

“Love you too.”

Mikey lands in Pittsburgh, and Jake’s apartment feels empty, and they’re on the phone but they say nothing.

The Penguins win game one, and the win weighs heavy in his chest, and they’re on the phone and they talk about the weather.

The Devils win game two, and the loss burns like salt in the sutured cut on his lip from an uncalled high stick, and they’re on the phone and they talk about the fountain at the Point.

He’d like to take Mikey there, some day. It’s one of his favourite places. He doesn’t say that, no matter how badly he wants to. It would just make not being able to do it now that much harder.

Jake lands in Newark, and the city feels dimmer without the promise of seeing his friend off the ice, and they’re on the phone but they say nothing.

Conor tells him he’s acting weird, and he shrugs it off, because he’s doing just fine.

The Devils win game three, and Jake’s two goals mean nothing, and they’re on the phone, but Mikey puts Ryan on since he’s there along with the rest of the family, sans the oldest brother.

They don’t talk about the game either. He likes Ryan, though. Mikey says Matt will be in tomorrow, and he can talk to him then. He doesn’t think about it - about Mikey still taking the time to talk to him even when his family’s there. About him wanting Jake to talk to them.

The Devils win game four, and they go back to Pittsburgh and Jake’s empty apartment, and they’re on the phone and Mikey tells as many airplane jokes as he can come up with - eleven, which is impressive, truly.

The Penguins win game five, and Jake’s goal is the game winner on a three point night, and they’re on the phone and he doesn’t say he’s sorry, but it’s a near thing.

There’s nothing to apologise for.

They head back to Newark, and he wishes he hadn’t decided to do this, and they’re on the phone and they talk about TV shows they need to catch up on.

Maybe this is a worse distraction, he thinks as he misses the net for the fourth time during practice and Sid asks him if he’s okay. _I’m fine. Off day._ Off days. Off week. Fuck, he misses Mikey, and they’ve been so close for so long. He sees him on the ice every other day and talks to him every night, and still he hasn’t seen him since February. He wants to hold his hand more than anything.

The Penguins win game six, and they’re officially stretching this thing as far as it’ll go, and they’re on the phone but they say nothing.

Sometimes it’s worse than not talking to each other at all - knowing that neither of them have anything to say. The company is nice, at least. At least Mikey still cares. Not that a playoff series would make him stop caring - that’s ridiculous. It’s just a relief that they aren’t letting it get to them, even if it is a little.

The Devils win game seven.

That’s it, end of story. It’s over for him in the first round. The first fucking round. It feels like he’s been punched in the gut - though maybe he was. The series is a blur.

Media goes by slowly, and he gives his best noncommittal hockey answers, just trying not to cry. Because he fucking wants to. It’s stupid, like _really_ stupid, but it feels like maybe his career was destined to start at the top and drop off slowly but surely. Cup, second round, first round.

The locker room starts to clear out, and Jake makes his way to the hall between the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling. This sucks. Every single fucking thing about this sucks.

Mikey comes out of the locker room and looks around until he sees Jake, immediately walking over with a sad smile that he’d rather not see. It doesn’t help.

And then Mikey hugs him, like pulls him in properly and holds tightly onto him.

Everything sucks a little less.

“You had a great series,” he says quietly into Jake’s hair.

“You too,” he replies, just as quietly. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not now, not while it’s still this fresh. He pulls away a little and Mikey lets his arms fall back to his sides. “I’m not looking forward to this-” he pokes Mikey’s jaw “-getting worse.”

“It looks good, shut up,” Mikey scratches at his chin, and Jake just laughs.

“If you say so.”

Conor comes out of the locker room, tears in his eyes, and he’s met halfway by Hallsy, who wraps him up in a silent hug too.

“Win the thing,” Jake says, looking back at Mikey. “I know you can.”

“I’ll try,” Mikey nods. “I wish we didn’t fly out tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.” It just feels unfair that he finally gets to spend time with Mikey, and he doesn’t even get that. Just an empty apartment and a soon to be empty locker.

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Call me when you get in.”

“Of course. Don’t stay up for me.”

“Why would I lose sleep for you?” Jake jokes, and Mikey flips him off before turning and walking away.

He didn’t even get to hold his hand.

He doesn’t stay awake for Mikey, but he’s still awake when he gets the phone call hours later, just packing as much as he can so he can go back home as soon as clean out is done. It hurts more than it did last year, which isn’t surprising, really, but still. There isn’t even all that much to pack up.

“Hey Jakes.”

“Hey Mikey.”

Mikey’s back in Newark, and Jake shoves a rock into a suitcase pocket, and they’re on the phone and they talk about the series, and Jake can’t hold back the tears anymore.

-

The first thing he does when he gets home is go to Fort Jake. Well, he drops his bag off at home first, obviously, but after that. He goes, and he sits on the swing that, by all accounts, shouldn’t be able to hold him anymore but is somehow just as sturdy as it was when he was young. He says nothing, not for a while, just sits and stares at the grass at his feet.

“There’s this boy,” he tells the quiet air around him. “He, uh- I like him a lot. God, I-” he rests his head against the rope, right above his hand, and sighs. “I think it’s good this time.”

Jake feels maybe a little foolish for waiting to see if anything around him stirs - a response. It really has - in the past, at least - felt like the forest listens to him, and right now he could really use a “sign” or whatever. Anything to tell him he isn’t reading too far into things. Again. When nothing happens, he continues.

“I want him to come here. I want him to know about this place. It feels important.”

Still nothing.

“It feels like… with the rock… it was warm. I still don’t know why it was warm.”

Still nothing.

“He’s-” the gentle breeze that had been biting lightly at his cheeks stops, and with it the rustling leaves fall silent, making the next words out of Jake’s mouth feel too loud.

“I love him.”

 _Still,_ nothing.

He whispers to himself this time, a realisation. “I’m in love with Mikey.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and the breeze picks back up, the moment over.

 _hey Jakes u landed right? you said_ _youd_ _text me_

He doesn’t get the chance to even start to reply when the grey typing bubble pops up again.

_I think Hallsy is gonna kill me if I keep pacing in his living room_

And again.

_you better be okay_

Jake rolls his eyes and quickly sends a simple _‘Mikey.’_ before he can say anything else.

His phone rings, and when he answers it, the first thing out of Mikey’s mouth is “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Hi to you too.”

There’s rustling on the other end. “Where are you? I can barely hear you.”

He looks around him for a second and shrugs. “A park by my parents’ house. Probably the trees.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Sorry I forgot to text you, I'm bad about that."

"You should get better at it, 'cause I'm gonna keep asking you. Gotta make sure you don't die on my watch," he jokes.

His brain starts a mantra of _I love you I love you I love you I love you_ and it’s difficult for Jake to think anything else. Which just makes _saying_ anything else damn near impossible. So he doesn’t.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Jakes,” he says, quiet.

A cardinal lands in the hole in the oak tree, settling beside the penguin timer that’s lost nearly all resemblance to a penguin, and Jake can’t help but let out a soft laugh at it. It starts to sing, moving its little head around like it’s dancing, and something settles in his chest.

There’s his answer, he thinks.

“What’s so funny?”

“There’s just-” he pauses, not knowing how to explain it “-this bird.”

“Hmm,” Mikey hums, “hilarious.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“I’m a delight.”

“You sure are,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his words, but he means every one of them.

-

There are a lot of options for places to live in the offseason, y’know, like, pretty much anywhere in the country. Of course, though, he’d like to stay here - it’s home. That said, it’s about time he buy a house here, and when it comes down to it, he probably should have done it last year, but it’s fine. It’s mostly a matter of needing to find a realtor and go to look at homes and then actually picking one, and that’s a whole process he’d rather not start right away.

He thinks about it, but properly beginning that Grand Adventure can wait for a little bit. It’s not like his family minds having him at home, and it’s really nice to see them.

He watches the first game the Devils play against the Caps, and it feels like it should be weird to cheer for another team, but it’s not, not when he can feel his heart skip a beat any time Mikey gets a good chance. It isn’t too long before it happens any time any of his teammates do too.

Washington takes game one. It wasn’t the best game Jersey has played, to say the least.

“Hey,” he answers when Mikey calls, “tough luck.”

“Yeah, can we not, uh-” he sighs, sounding defeated. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“Of course.” It’s not always easy to talk about losses, especially bad ones.

Neither of them speak, and Jake goes outside and stands on his back porch, leaning over the railing, and, while what he’s looking at pales in comparison, it almost feels like the night back in Pittsburgh, when he stood on Mt. Washington. Really there isn’t all that much that actually is similar, the biting cold replaced with the chill of late spring, the dark skies and shining city lights replaced with a sunset that’s all but over and a bunch of trees. But he’s here, and Mikey’s on the phone, and they aren’t really talking, but it’s still nice, and Jake is _longing,_ and-

“Visit me?”

Mikey laughs, “I’m a little bit busy at the moment, Guentz.”

“No shit,” he rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean now, but like, later this summer. I’m gonna start looking into buying a house, y’know? I don’t know, that- that wasn’t relevant at all I just- I miss you.”

“Me too,” he says softly. “I wish we had just spent time together last week.”

“Next time,” Jake smiles even as he adds it to the list of things he's fucked up in the name of trying to curb his feelings.

“Yeah, next time.”

Game two he watches with his family, and he can tell they’re a little confused as to why he’s on the edge of his seat the entire time, but they don’t ask. Well, right up until the puck hits the back of the net, and he can’t help himself when he nearly jumps off the couch - _nearly_ doesn’t mean he doesn’t end up on his feet, however.

“Holy _shit,_ Mikey!”

“Okay,” Ryan says slowly, and Jake sits down just as slowly.

“I’ve uh- I’ve talked to him a few times,” he explains.

“Right.”

It’s dropped, and so is the puck, so it’s more or less forgotten.

The Devils take game two.

“Jakes!” Mikey nearly shouts the moment he answers his phone.

“Beauty of a game, bud,” he says instead of _I’m so proud of you._ He hopes he can feel it anyway.

“So you saw?”

“Yeah, Mikey,” he laughs lightly. “Wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

He misses game three, caught up in errands and the processes involved in trying to actually progress with this homebuying business. He did, of course, remember to record it, assuming this would happen. Unfortunately, the moment he checks his phone for the score, the 3-6 staring back at him pulls a defeated sigh out of his chest like the top of the six reached down his throat and stole his breath itself.

"Hey Jakes," Mikey mumbles, resigned.

"Hey, mouse. I didn't catch the game, but it's recorded, so-"

"Don't-" he interrupts softly. "Just. Don't watch it."

"Okay. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just. Y'know."

"Yeah."

The silence hangs between them and it makes Jake's stomach twist a little - more like tumbles than somersaults, let alone flips - and in an attempt to break it, he blurts out, "you know what really sucks?"

"Me on a good day." There's a beat where Jake  _starts_ to try to process that, but he doesn't get to before he continues. "But what's up with you?"

The game may have been bad, but, "you don't-"

"We've moved on, Jakes. What sucks?"

"Trying to buy a house," he says as though he's actually made any attempt to do that. "There are like, a whole fuckin' lot of steps. It's like the Pittsburgh Zoo escalator."

"I have no clue what that means, but you found a house already?"

"Fuck no," Jake laughs. "I haven't even gotten a realtor yet. And remind me to send you pictures of the zoo thing. It's the worst; imagine the longest staircase ever but it's moving pretty much straight in the air up a mountain."

He hates that fuckin' thing. Everyone does, probably.

"I'd rather not imagine that, actually, thanks. But I  _will_ be your real estate agent," Mikey offers, sounding sure of himself.

"Oh yeah?" Jake grins, amused. "You're qualified to do that? And also not busy doing anything right now?"

"Well if you're willing to wait a few weeks..."

"I think I'll pass and just hire a professional now, thanks."

"Your loss."

-

He does intend to get started on doing as such the next day, but it's easier - and far more fun - to shoot the shit with Mikey for hours instead.

The odds of making up for it before the game dissipates into thin air when an old friend calls him up and asks if he'd like to go fishing with a bunch of their high school buddies.

Why would he pass that up? There's no real rush to buy a house. He has, like, all summer to do that.

Fresh air and seemingly everlasting friendships woven together with time instead of torn apart by it will always be one of his favourite parts of being home, after all.

As always it turns into a competition, or rather, a few of them - biggest catch, most caught total, et cetera - and as always, Jake doesn't come close in either category. Apart from the solid chirping it earns him, he couldn't care less.

Not when he had such a good time.

Not when he leaves having caught up with Alex and everything felt completely normal between them despite how things ended years ago.

Not when he gets home just before puck drop with a resulting relief he didn't know he needed and a feeling that things do work themselves out, sometimes.

The game is tight from start to the moment the final buzzer sounds, and Jake is pretty sure he hardly breathed at all for the last five minutes, only letting the air out of his lungs once it's locked in - the series is tied, two wins apiece.

"Halfway there," he grins, both proud of and excited for his friend.

"So are they."

"Y'know," he teases, "I wouldn't have guessed you were a glass half empty kinda guy."

Mikey snorts at that. "When did I say I was? I'm more of a 'the glass contains fifty percent water and fifty percent air' person."

"Wow, mouse. Strong math."

"I'm sticking my tongue out at you, just so you know."

"I bet."

"Man, it's gonna be nice as fuck when I get to lay in  _my_ bed and cuddle with my cat. I miss Cali and her soft lil' fuckin' face."

"Do me a favour?" Jake asks, smiling softly to himself.

"What?"

"Put off going home for a few more weeks. Mississauga is probably nicer in June, anyway."

Mikey laughs again, and Jake feels it sink into his chest the way it always does - a sound unlike any other, one that dances around his heart until it's full of relief and love and a concoction of every other good feeling you can have. It's the best thing in the world, leaving him hardpressed to want anything more than he wants Mikey to be happy.

His happiness is relaxing and contagious, like a virus and the antibiotic all wrapped into one.

"It is that, so I'll try my best. Find a realtor yet?"

"Haven't even looked," he admits, "and before you say anything,  _yes_ I'm still gonna get someone who knows what they're doing-"

"-I know what I'm doing-"

"I went fishing with buddies instead."

Mikey gasps, "I didn't know you had friends."

"And I don't know why you're one of them."

"We all know why, Jakes."  _That_ makes his heart stop. "Did you catch anything fun?"

 _God_  he hates when Mikey pulls this shit. He can't keep up for the life of him.

"A couple trout and a bass or two. Nothing to write home about."

"Interesting," Mikey says slowly, once again continuing before Jake can ask. "Any steelheads?"

"Nope," he laughs, because of course that's where he was going with that. "Don't know that I've ever caught one."

He hums. "Maybe one day."

"Yeah, maybe one day."

He didn't intend for the statement to sound so... yearning - enough to catch _himself_  off guard. He wasn't actively thinking about the exchange as anything deeper than it is at surface level, but at the same time?

Mikey is  _definitely_ a catch - one he sure would like to make.

"Who knows, maybe you'll catch a 'professional' someday too."

Though, sometimes, it's easy to question why that is.

-

It turns out all he needed to do was ask his parents for advice, because he'd completely forgotten that his mother's friend Linda sells houses, and before he knows it, Jake's on a ninety-degree escalator towards homeownership.

When he settles in to watch game five, it's nice to think back on the past few days, back to old friends, and a Devils win, and taking the step forward he kept putting off, and the brief conversations he'd had with Linda to make sure they get started in the right direction. It all leaves him in an optimistic good mood; a good mood that remains through sixty minutes of hockey.

Sixty minutes of hockey that leave the Devils with a series lead.

He hopes the relief that comes from that information is felt the same way in a locker room in Washington as it is on a beat-up couch in Minnesota.

"I'm proud of you, you know," he says, quiet words dripping with fondness.

"We haven't done anything yet," Mikey laughs easily, and something seems fragile in the air, like if they make too loud a noise, whatever it is will break.

"No," he shrugs, "I guess not. But I believe you can."

"Yeah," he says, barely above a whisper. "Me too."

It's nice to hear. He _should_ believe in his team. In _himself._

"One game left." One more win. "One at a time. Then the next four."

"I know."

-

There's a lot he expected about moving forward concerning buying a house, but as Linda takes him to view a few properties, Jake learns the most unexpected part of it would end up being his own expectations.

Trust him, it's just as confusing as that seemed.

Every single house is pretty much the same thing, and when they finish up for the day, Jake has nothing to say other than none of them really _felt_  right. There's no reason why either; it isn't like anything particularly negative stood out for any of them.

She reassures him that this kind of thing happens all the time. Sometimes people get those magical 'this is it' moments you see on TV, but the inverse can be true too. It usually is more like 'it's just not right,' and it's just a matter of weeding those ones out.

That applies to a lot of things outside of houses, he thinks. There are a lot of 'this is it' moments in life, at least in his experience. Maybe even more than the alternative, but he supposes 'it's just not right' isn't as memorable most of the time. Not when the knowing feeling is almost always such a big thing.

Chasing a soccer ball into the woods, a plank of wood suspended by some rope, _this is it,_ this is my sanctum.

Pulling on a Penguins jersey in the Prudential Center, a hat that looks like the five he has back home, _this is it,_ this is my team.

Bouncing on a bench in Nashville, a buzzer and thrown equipment, _this is it_ , this is my dream.

Pleading for hope, a small stone in an unseen path, _this is it,_ this means something.

Biting back feelings in a Pittsburgh apartment, a smile like no other, _this is it,_ this boy means everything.

"You haven't found anything good because I'm not the one picking houses for you to look at, I'm tellin' you."

 _"Or,_  it's because we looked for one day."

"Hmm. No. Don't think that's it."

Waiting for game six to start, Jake finds himself oddly shaky in a way that lies on a slider between anxiety and anticipation. He's felt this before, more times than he can count. It's almost exactly the feeling he gets before he steps onto the ice at game time.

It's almost exactly the feeling he gets when he sees Mikey is calling, or he texted him, or he thinks about him, or-

The fact that Mikey and a pre-game rush evoke the same feeling makes Jake's head spin a little.

It ends up a battle to the last minute, which is to be expected considering it's the playoffs and the defending champions' chances at a repeat are on the line,  _and_ Jake knows first hand the Caps' ability to force a game seven. He's even been on both sides of that decisive game's outcome.

But regulation comes to an end, and Mikey doesn't have to experience a Washington game seven.

Jake can easily say he's never been more excited to talk to his friend than he is as he watches the teams shake hands.

He finds himself a mixed bag of feelings, pride for his friend, a little bit of selfish joy at seeing Washington earning themselves a second-round exit, and he finds the mushy bits of love that are hidden in it like chocolate chips buried in a brownie of pure happiness when he gets a glance of Mikey crashing into Nico as they skate back toward the locker room. It all washes over him like a warm summer breeze, and he's sure his friend is feeling the same thing.

Except it's probably a lot less like a breeze, and more like the kind of wind that knocks you over, but for some reason, you couldn't be happier that it had.

Watching the team go through media, seeing Mikey's wide smile, Jake can't help but mirror it, not when that grin and the boy behind it mean so much to him.

The brownies are as warm and sweet as the love he can't contain properly.

"Halfway there," he beams, answering his phone before it even gets the chance to ring.

"You already said that," Mikey laughs, loud and light all at the same time, and Jake wishes he could see his face right now. Or give him a hug and not let go.

Mostly that second thing.

"Yeah, but this is a better halfway."

"It  _is_ that."

"I'm proud of you." The words taste sweet on his tongue like the brownies have too much sugar in them but in the best possible way.

"Thanks, Jakes. You're..." he trails off for a few seconds, and Jake waits patiently for Mikey to continue. "You help a lot." In a rush to explain, the rest of what he says is a jumbled mess, but for the most part, Jake is able to make out what sounded akin to "y'know with the homesickness and stuff, y'know? You aren't _home_  but you're home and you're _here_  but you're not, y'know? 'Cause you're comfortable and kinda like a human stress ball and now I really wanna hug you but I can't which _sucks_ , but-" he catches his breath and ends with a shy "-you're just important to me, is all."

He's got to wonder what the melting point of cakes are, because with every word he got warmer and warmer, but it's nothing like being left in the oven too long and getting burnt up, no, it's more like he just got softer and softer until he's nothing more than a gooey mess of peaceful contentment. Less like a brownie and more like a candy bar left out in the sun.

It's hard to think of anything to say in response to that when his mind is just a mantra of 'god, I love you so much,' but even in its hardly solid state, his brain manages to get it together enough to settle on a much safer, "I'm glad."

It's safer because there's telling each other I love you - usually more than - once a day, and there's telling someone you love them after they say something like that, and they're not even in the same realm connotatively.

"Sorry," Mikey says shyly. "That was a lot."

"Don't be. You're fine." It's fine, he's fine, but Jake and Jake's heart are most certainly not. "It's the same for me.  _And_  it's your turn to help me."

"Oh yeah? Finally decide to wait for me to come be your agent?"

"No, in fact, wording it like that is terrifying," he jokes. "I just need your expertise for a minute."

Mikey laughs, and it's borderline giddy. He really is something else. "Perfect, I'll take that. Hit me with it."

"How is every house _not_ the exact same building, because I can't find any differences. It's ridiculous."

He laughs again, and Jake wants to inform him this is no laughing matter, he's  _serious,_ this is capital S Serious, but he doesn't think he could even muster up the acting ability to get that out without breaking if he tried. "Are you looking at the same style of house, because that's kind of the point if you are."

"The same  _what?"_

"Oh my god, Jakes. How are you a real person?"

"I dunno. Cells and stuff."

"Hm. Mitochondria."

"Exactly."

"Seriously, though, do you mean they're actually the same or they feel the same? Like you were talking about the other day?"

Jake sighs because for some reason hearing someone else say it out loud makes it sink in even more. "The feeling. I don't _want_  any of 'em. I don't even know if you're _supposed_  to _want_  one or just. Pick one."

"I think you're supposed to want one," Mikey says softly, the way you would explain a new feeling to a confused child. It doesn't feel patronizing, just comforting. "It's okay if you don't know why you don't like something. You don't have to give everything a reason you know. Some things you just. Know. Usually, you really can't explain that shit. Intuition or whatever."

"Why do you know what buying a house feels like?" he laughs even as he absorbs the unexpected reminder. It's nice to have.

"I don't, but I  _do_ know what it's like to feel something but not understand why. Good things can be the right things. Like fate or whatever."

At least twelve percent of Jake wants to chirp him for ending two rather insightful observations with 'or whatever,' but the rest, and arguably less rational, eighty-eight percent would rather get out those good ol' reading glasses and look way too far into things.

It's only... well, that's how he feels about Mikey, and he can't help but wonder if he's talking about the same thing.

Ever deflective, instead he asks, "like Nate?"

There's a slight pause before Mikey answers. "Yeah, kinda. I meant with you, though."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

He really fuckin' loves Mikey.

-

At the very least, Mikey's words - not the ones that make Jake's heart flutter just thinking about them, but rather the helpful ones about intuition - get stuffed in his back pocket for safekeeping as he continues to trek through the viewings Linda sets up. Really, they're the only things making him feel like he's not an idiot when nothing changes; each new property invoking no real feeling. There's no good houses or bad ones, nothing black and white, no hard no's, no solid yes's. He's trapped in a perpetual void of 'who's to say' grey.

Mikey tries to help more, but there isn't really anything else he can offer that'll be beneficial when Jake  _still_ doesn't know what the problem is to begin with.

"This is like helping a toddler."

"A toddler wouldn't buy a house."

"At this rate, neither are you."

There is, at the bare minimum, a hesitant acknowledgement of possibility to be found in the grey area. You might just have to make a house a home after all. All that would be left after picking one is hoping he'd figure out what's missing. The idea of living in a constant state of 'almost, but not quite,' is kind of terrible to consider, though.

So much of his life is summed up like that right now, and Jake would rather not bring that into his living space. Currently, there's a fog hiding the horizon; an inconvenience. Adding 'but not quite' in the shape of a house would likely do little good in the effort to lift that. He can see it now, a light fog's density doubled; a heavy cloud he's taken residence in. A constant reminder that he's so young and has so many good things in life, but there's a roadblock somewhere and the very nature of it conceals its cause.

"Okay, what if I buy a plot of land and a bunch of those really nice sheds from Home Depot and nail them together. That's basically a house, right? Just a bunch of boxes put together? That's one way to make your own home."

Mikey just laughs at him. "You need to get some sleep, bud."

He knows this.

-

Just as soon as it started, the break between rounds is over, and Mikey is in Tampa getting ready for game one while Jake is left exactly where he was days ago.

It's less than ideal and he can't quite decide if a settled for 'eh, I guess' would feel better than desperately reaching for something unknown without even so much as a general idea of where it's hidden. 'Almost but not quite' might as well be crashing on a deserted island with a shovel and knowing that, somewhere, there's buried treasure, but no, there isn't a map. Lots of ground to cover and nothing more than a smile and a cheery 'good luck!'

There's no relief quite like the distraction of playoff hockey. Or so he'd thought. The relief lasts about as long as it takes to blink.

Relief isn't even in the same universe as the feeling he's left with after watching three periods of... whatever that was.

Pain is more appropriate wording, in this case; watching it was properly  _painful._

He thinks back to the loss against the Caps that he has missed, and wonders if the game went anything like this one had. If that was the case, he could unquestionably rationalise Mikey not wanting him to watch it. The thing is... a 3-6 loss is hard, but it's still better than 7-2. The numbers aren't that different, but the canyon formed in the changes is wide and painful. One more for the Lightning, a dagger in the chest. One less for the Devils, another in the stomach. A 3 goal deficit gives the impression that a fight was put up, but  _five?_

They did fight. They fought tooth and nail, but in the end, it was one of those games that felt more like two teams playing completely different sports than a hockey game.

Mikey doesn't answer when he calls him as night starts to fall, and Jake wanders out onto his back porch, listening to the automated message. Waiting for the beep, he leans over the railing and thinks about how losses like that one can leave you hollowed out. It's miserable, and he just wants to make sure his friend knows he's not alone.

"Really Mikey? Too lazy to set up a real voicemail?" He jokes before he looks up at the sky and hums softly. "I think it's one of my favourite things when sunsets have a bunch of colours. I don't know what it was like where you are, but tonight's is pretty good here. Lots of pinks and purples, and there's a bit of orange around the edge that never lasts more than a couple of minutes. I wish it lasted longer. I guess I wouldn't notice it if it _did._ Maybe it's pretty because it's so temporary. I dunno.

"Oh, and there's this squirrel-" he notes, looking out into his yard "-that looks like it's about to drop its little squirrel gloves with a bird. Have you ever heard a pissed off squirrel? It's loud as fuck. What does it even have to be angry about? Acorn taxes raising too much? Maybe the bird is its landlord."

He looks up and the orange is gone, and he pulls the phone away from his ear to see how long he's been rambling. Nearly three minutes.

"I don't even know if this is still recording, but if it is, just. Uh. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, mouse. Always."

Maybe the always was too much, but it's true. All Jake really wanted to do was take his mind off the loss; offer a small reminder that it was just one game. The first in a best of seven. The fight is far from over.

Tomorrow's a new day, and neither of them has any reason to give up yet. Mikey's got more games to play, and Jake's got an entire summer. They'll be fine.

It's easy to forget that.

-

He wakes up to a text that lights relief in his chest, and it seems like his friend is on the same page.

_u didn't have to say sorry for the long message. youre allowed to talk_

Jake laughs and sits up, stretching before replying, _Didn't wanna take too long. You need your beauty sleep._

Unsurprisingly, the response to that is an immediate phone call, and the moment he answers, he's greeted with, "how dare you. I wake up like this, Jakes, I don't need beauty sleep."

"I know you do," he smirks to himself, just a little. "That's _why_ you need beauty sleep."

"That's the worst thing you've ever said to me."

"Is it?"

"Uh huh. I'm hurt." Jake can only imagine the ridiculous pout on his face.

"I'm sorry, mouse. We all know you're the prettiest boy."

"Damn straight," he laughs, and Jake is well aware it's actually the opposite of that. But who's counting. "What's up with your house stuff? Are acorn taxes really that high?"

"It's getting out of hand, Mike. I think there's going to be a squirrel coup soon, and it might leave the neighbourhood in  _shambles."_

"That bad? Guess you should just move to Canada, then. Hey, Missy's squirrels are peaceful friends."

"I don't plan on moving to Mississauga, but I appreciate the suggestion," he grins, doing his best to ignore the butterflies erupting in his stomach. There's no way Mikey knows just how much the idea of Jake moving to his hometown would affect him, but it's more than it should be.

He kinda wants to lay back down. Forever. Never get up. Just become one with the mattress.

"We'll see about that." What the f- "There aren't _any_  that you liked? Even a little?"

If Mikey doesn't stop doing this to him, Jake is going to get whiplash one too many times and he's never going to be able to see straight again.

Mikey's pretty good at causing him to not be able to do a lot of things straight, to be fair.

"Not really, and Linda  _said_ I should maybe look at them again, but. I dunno. I'd rather pick what shade of white would look best on a ceiling, paint it, and then watch it dry than think about this stuff more than I already am."

"You know that no one is making you buy a house right now, right? Like, you aren't being held-" he gasps, and Jake blinks, confused "- say purple if you're being held hostage. I'll send someone to get you."

"Why would I say purple-"

"I knew it!"

There's a short pause before they both burst with laughter, and Jake can't believe his goofball friend more often than not.

In fact, "there's no one quite like you."

"There better not be," Mikey huffs, "otherwise I'd have to fight him for it."

"What are you fighting him for, exactly?"

"The right to be me. Duh."

"Gotcha. If you lose does this person get to play for the Devils instead of you?"

He scoffs. "Like I would  _ever_ lose a Michael McLeod contest."

It's been a while since they'd gotten to talk for so long, and Jake even ends up talking to Nico, Hallsy, and Woody, plus a few other Devils that felt like taking Mikey's phone. It was just... nice to have. A breath of fresh air that he's pretty sure both of them needed. He knows he did.

-

He has a little bit of back and forth with Linda while he waits for the next morning to pass so he can just get to the important part of the day - game time. It's more productive than he'd have anticipated it would be, at least, and Jake can't stop the hopeful blossom that grows in his chest when she tells him they'd revisit two properties the next day, and the day after that they'll tour a house she has a really good feeling about.

If she has a good feeling about it, he can't help but feel the same. Maybe he lucked out this time.

When it's finally time to tune in to the pregame coverage, he just wishes the Devils can find their own little bit of luck. It's only fair that Mikey gets some too.

It's foolish, and Mikey's luck isn't his own, despite how much he'd like it to be. No amount of whispered armchair coaching helps as the puck never stays in any zone for very long, the game quickly turning into a goaltending contest.

The final seconds tick away both too soon and ages after it feels like it should have, and there's still no victor. Overtime doesn't last long enough for Jake to finish the thought 'at least they still have time,' a goal horn interrupting him at  _have._

Tampa Bay two, New Jersey one.

Tampa Bay two, New Jersey none.

There's not much to say later, not when he and Mikey know the heartbreak from a hard-fought overtime loss can almost hurt more than a blowout.

Jake can't offer much, but he tells him things he knows for sure. He believes in Mikey, in his team, and he loves him more than words can say. No matter the outcome of the game, those things are true. It's important that his friend knows that, and before they go, he tells him about this feeling deep in his chest that he just can't seem to shake: there are good things on the horizon.

It's hard to see through the fog, but he believes it's the truth.

-

There are good things on the horizon, he tells himself after he gets home from revisiting the only two houses that he pegged as 'maybe's that shaped up to be just like the rest after all; a faded grey thing he just doesn't care much for.

There  _has_ to be some good things soon. You can only approach a horizon for so long before you actually get there, right?

Maybe not.

That's... really not how horizons work at all.

Still, he hopes, and it feels like things are getting too close to the end of the line for both of them as Mikey heads to morning skate in Newark, determined with the sole intent to not let his team fall to a three-game deficit that night, and Jake drives to the house that, one way or another, is likely going to be one of the last he looks at for the time being. Hope is all that's left to do, even if it's against his better judgement.

Things _are_ going to improve for both of them.

He carries that attitude with him as he follows Linda into the house he tried not to hype himself up for to ease potential disappointment, but maybe it's the forced optimism he's brought with him, but _something_ here feels... right. It isn't the 'this is it; this is  _home'_ moment he'd been looking for, but it's similar if a bit more relaxed. A comfort, borderline familiar.

He can't place why that is, or what's missing and causing an absence spelling out hesitation in red pen over a pale sense of home, but there's still something to work with here.

The more he squints, the more the 'something' presents itself, until Jake can make out its shape more clearly. The bricks that build a home are laid out in front of him, and he finds more in the kitchen cabinets, and more in the hall closet, and some in the master bedroom, and the more of the house he sees the more bricks he finds. There are enough here, he realises, bricks in every corner like a child's building blocks, and what he's missing is mortar, the glue that holds them in one place.

The feeling of something being out of reach that he'd worried about is there, but it's completely different than he thought it would've been. Yes, it's missing, but it's tangible, he knows what it is in a way. He knows vaguely what he's looking for, just doesn't know what it is he's going to find when he gets to it. It doesn't feel like a heavy and overbearing cloud or a shovel and too much ground to cover, instead, it's a flashlight in the fog and a map in his hands. It's a push in the right direction, a sense that walking forward will get him where he needs to be; no searching is necessary, from here it's staying on path until he stumbles on what the light catches. Until the shovel hits something below the surface. Until the mortar reveals itself.

It's unknowing in the comforting sense, an acceptance of the passage of time and the reality that comes with it: everything is an ongoing process, a seed growing at its own pace until it blossoms.

It's unknowing in the way Jake tries to live, taking the time between now and later not as a burden, but as an adventure.

There isn't any way to describe this to Linda, so all there is to say is a simple, "I like it."

She seems to understand what he means in spite of the vague brevity. This might just be his house.

Someday, maybe, a home.

He tells her he'll give her a more firm answer as soon as he can, and they both know that alone is answer enough. Jake honestly doesn't even know what the hesitation is, but it's there, so he gives himself the time to decide that he needs.

Maybe it's the bone-deep overeager optimism that evolved from the feigned sort he entered the house with, maybe it's a dangerous dose of hope, maybe it's just one of those gut feelings that are often wrong, but as Jake heads home, he  _really_ feels like this game is going to go well for the Devils.

No matter what it is, there's just something about the day as a whole that feels like a turning point, a fork in the road, perhaps. Obviously he isn't Mikey, and the last game was further proof that their luck and good tidings aren't shared, but at the same time, their paths keep intersecting - weaving together more and more as time progresses. At least it seems that way to Jake.

It isn't quite the magic feeling from his forest, but it's similar enough to notice.

He may have found the right house, and the relief from that carries itself in the shape of confidence for a good turnout in New Jersey. Who can blame him?

Furthermore, who can blame him when it's validated and the game goes as well as he thought it would.

At least it does for most of the team.

Early in the second, Mikey scores and he couldn't be more delighted, more _proud,_ but just a few minutes later, he goes down the tunnel after a filthy boarding that goes uncalled, and Jake's stomach twists in knots - ones that hardly loosen even after he returns to the bench eight minutes later.

New Jersey seals a win, their first of the series.

He can't even be as excited as he knows he is below the concern, and waiting to talk to Mikey is borderline painful.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just glad we won."

"Me too," he agrees, "but are you actually okay, or just playoffs okay?"

Mikey laughs at that. "I'm actually okay,  _dad._ Trust me."

"Don't you _dad_ me," he laughs in return. "You had a hell of a game. Goal was a beauty."

"Aren't you gonna call me champ or kiddo or something?" he teases. "Where's the love?"

"I'm gonna lovingly hang up on you."

"You wouldn't."

No, he wouldn't.

"I guess I won't, but only because you scored."

"Oh is that all it takes? That's rough. How was the house today? Any good?"

"I think I might make an offer on it," he replies, biting his lip in an attempt to curb his enthusiasm a little. He still doesn't know that he will, but saying it out loud makes it feel so much more probable.

"No shit, really?" Mikey sounds genuinely excited, and it makes Jake picture a small child bouncing up and down because they can't contain all their enthusiasm in their little bodies yet. "What's it like?"

The answer leaves his mouth without forethought. "Home."

"Really?" He still sounds excited, but it's softer, somehow.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"That's fuckin' great, Jakes. You should do it."

"You think?"

"I do."

"Even though you weren't the one that showed it to me?" he teases as he opens his laptop to email Linda the news.

"I don't care who showed it to you if it's what you were looking for, idiot," he laughs. "And it doesn't even matter what I think. I mean it does, 'cause I'm the best at this. I'm like East Canadian Drew."

There's not enough time in the world to unpack all of that, but the last part especially made no sense to him. "You're what now?"

"Drew? Drew Scott?" Mikey says like it's obvious. "Property Brothers?"

Oh, right. Shears and Rusty watch that a lot. "Which one is Drew?"

"The realtor, Jakes. Obviously. You've really never seen their show? Ry and I watch it all the time."

"I don't think you two are the benchmark for the norm," he grins. "I'll never understand either of you."

"No one does. The only thing that matters is I'm cooler."

"Uh huh," he deadpans. "I bet."

"I don't need this attitude from you, Mister I Know Nothing About Houses."

Jake snorts, because of course that was his retaliation. "Why should I know anything about houses?"

"You live in one. C'mon, everyone has a dream house. Don't pretend you don't."

"Really? Alright, Barbie, what's your dream house?"

"A castle, duh."

He really should have expected nothing less. "Reasonable."

"Once I become a prince, I'll let you rent a room in my castle."

"Thanks, your majesty. I'd be honoured."

"I don't think you call a prince your majesty."

His laptop pings, drawing him attention to a response from Linda letting him know she'd get into contact with the sellers as soon as possible, and as Jake returns his appreciation, a small laugh of bubbling excitement escapes. "Let me get this straight, you wanna live in a castle, but you don't know anything about being a prince?"

"I-"

"But it's weird that I don't know every single detail about houses?"

"I've never been a prince, Jake!" Mikey half shouts as though he's actually affronted in spite of his amusement clearly seeping through. "You live in a house!"

"Sure. Hey do you watch a lot of shows about being a prince?"

"I changed my mind, you should lovingly hang up on me."

"But I wouldn't."

He thinks back to Mikey thanking him for being a comfort and wonders if he knows how true it is for him too. Yeah, Jake had said that it was, but does he _understand?_ Does he understand that his voice and his laugh are like a comfort blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, forming a small barrier that protects him from worry for a short period of time? Does he understand just how important he really is?

Because he's really,  _really_ fucking important.

-

Waking up two days later is really disorienting for a moment because the meeting with Linda about the finer details of the house was both mere seconds and a lifetime ago. Coincidentally, that's _also_  about how long the meeting took.

Time is most definitely fake, bottom line.

All he knows for sure is he's going to hear back with an answer on the house within the next few days.

It's a pretty good thing to know. Like good news he's getting for the first time, but it's every time he thinks about it.

The best comparison he can think of is the feeling of finding a forgotten twenty when you reach into your pocket, but it's  _every time_ you reach into your pocket.

Sure, he knows he should probably be packing or doing anything at all productive, but there's no rush. Instead, he decides he'll just ride this out, taking Avoidance Avenue out of Responsibility City by playing mindless games on his phone until it's time for Mikey's game to start. That's more fun than packing any day.

Taking a day for himself is a nice little win after a long and stressful stretch of time.

Which is more than the Devils get, unfortunately.

It isn't another awful loss, nor was it a heartbreakingly tight game, just a regular two to nothing loss.

That doesn't make it feel better. Nothing really can.

Not when it was a shutout.

Not when the series is now three to one in favour of Tampa, and it's looking like it'll-

He doesn't wanna think about it.

You don't put karma like that into the universe. You keep that shit to yourself.

"Hey, bud," he answers the phone with a rock settled in his stomach.

"Hey."

He can't lose hope. Teams have come back from this before. Still, Jake can't bring himself to tell him that. Not when they both know the chances of it. Not when they both know how hard the fight is from here on out.

"I love you," Mikey says quietly to break the silence.

"I love you too. No matter what. I believe in you," he swallows, the air around him too thick in his throat. If you asked him which statement  _no matter what_ was meant to be paired with, he couldn't tell you.

Both, probably. It applies to both.

-

As he convinces himself it's worth it to actually pack the next day while he awaits further information, all Jake can think about is Mikey and his team and their chances and how hard it is to lose after making it so far and everything in between.

He thinks back to the first round and air thicker than honey but far less sweet, impossible to swallow with no combination of words capable of thinning it out. He thinks about the heavy air and the pain of losing on home ice with his best friend on the other side of the handshake line.

He thinks about the second round last year. He thinks about the weight of failure and feeling like it's the worst he's ever tried to carry. He thinks about failing personally. He thinks about failing as a team.

The thing is, both playoff exits only came after stretching the series to seven games. The Pens dragged it on, kicking and screaming, the chance to advance within their grasp-

Only to fall short each time.

The Devils have a chance, but it isn't the same as the ones he'd faced. It isn't sixty minutes of hard-fought, no holds barred playoff hockey. It's three straight games against a team that's causing problems for New Jersey for a second consecutive year.

The hill on its own isn't insurmountable, but it's less of a hill and more of a mountain. The thing is, there's a certain amount of resources needed to reach its peak. So while it isn't technically impossible, it might as well be, given the insufficient supplies they seem to have with them.

Maybe he's missing something and they do have everything they need, but that doesn't make it any easier. With more on hand, the bags they carry are heavier, and the harder the work is made. It's a treacherous circuit of a climb, but it's possible.

And the Lightning are causing a repeat problem, but the Capitals beat the Penguins and won the Cup. The past doesn't necessarily mean anything, as much as it feels like it does.

He's been relying on hope too much recently, he thinks, but when it isn't his team, that's all he can do. It sucks, and it's still so foreign to care so much about the outcomes for a team other than his own. But he does, so he goes to sleep the night before game five, and he  _hopes._

_-_

His phone buzzing on the nightstand startles him awake in the morning, and he blindly smacks the table until he finds it, bringing it to his ear without bothering to see who's calling.

"'Sup?"

"Jake?" Linda asks, and he sits up so quickly he nearly drops his phone, far more awake than he was two seconds ago.

"Oh sorry," he runs a hand down his face in an attempt to collect himself. "Good morning. Any news?"

"I'm afraid so," she replies, and Jake's heart drops. "It looks like our time together is coming to an end."

Still in the midst of mentally waking up, that takes a moment to process, but when it does, "wait, you mean-"

"Your offer was accepted. Congratulations, you're a homeowner."

"Holy shit," he breathes out on top of a giddy flutter of a laugh. It's real. This is real. He bought a fucking  _house._

"Well, unofficially. Now all that's left is-"

He only kind of hears the rest of what she says, and he's left at least ninety percent sure that none of this is  _actually_ real as he just floats through the motions, completely unaware of the passage of time.

It has to be a dream, he tells himself, standing in his living room, showing the cold keys in his hand to his parents.

It sinks in when his mother squeezes him tighter than she looks like she'd be able to. It really is real, and the keys in his hand are tangible, and they unlock the doors to a house he owns.

The morning has been overwhelming in all the best ways, and he's still mostly floating on cloud nine, so it's easier than breathing to climb back into his bed and sleep until game time.

Cloud nine is a lot less fun when he wakes up, though. The good feelings are completely gone, and maybe it's the haze lingering from both the high and waking up a second time, but something feels off while he watches the Devils take the ice.

He pretends he can't place what that feeling is, just hoping against hope that he's wrong, because he does know. He knows all to well.

He's felt it in the locker room, in the arena, vibrating up through the ice as he steps on it.

His only choice is  _belief._  Belief in change, in a team that isn't his, belief that they can and  _will_ rally around each other and flip the script.

They try - they really fucking try, but for the fourth time this series they fall short, and for the third time this postseason, Mikey shakes hands with his opponent.

For the last time this postseason, Mikey holds his head high as he makes his way through the line.

For the last time this season, Mikey- he-

Jake doesn't have any more words. Everything is blank and frozen, the exact way he's felt as he stood on a sheet of ice as it seeps into his bones until he feels stagnant even as he moves.

Blank and frozen; his body and the ice cut from hard work with no payoff. One and the same.

The only thing that matters now is how  _Mikey_ is doing because it's not an easy th-

A blaring ringtone and Mikey's contact photo break him out of the ice that surrounded him, but he's still sluggish, not fully thawed out yet.

"Remember when you asked me if I'd visit you?" he asks, his voice heavy as Jake wonders whether the hot tears on his cheek are his own or Mikey's. "'Cause I'm not busy now, and I'd like to do that."

"Of course you can, mouse," he says softly, wanting nothing more than to console his friend. He wishes he could hold him right about now.

"Whenever?" he asks, and when his voice cracks, Jake's heart cracks with it.

"Yeah," he says without hesitation. "You can stay with me if you want. I start moving in tomorrow."

"You got the house?"

"Yeah. Did all the paperwork this morning, so it's mine, I guess."

"You guess?" Mikey laughs like it's a battle to do so. "That seems like something you might wanna know for sure."

"I have the keys, so I know I can get inside."

"That's better than nothing. I'm really happy for you, Jakes. You deserve this."

"Thanks," he replies. That's all he thinks there is to say. He can't just say that Mikey deserves to make it to the finals, to win the thing, to not be so _broken_  right now.

It just doesn't feel fair that he has good news and Mikey has... yeah.

After a pause, Mikey's voice sounds too far away as he asks, "does it matter when?"

"I already said whenever, Mikey," he jokes.

"I know, but I- uh. I think I'm gonna call Ry now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright, tell him I said hi."

"Can I tell him you said 'hi baby cloud'?"

"No," he says slowly. "Why would you do that?"

"It'd be funny."

"How?"

"Nevermind,  _buzzkill._ See ya."

"Bye. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Really? Even though I won't let you pretend I called your brother baby cloud?"

"Don't push it, Guentzel."

As much as he wishes they could have talked longer, that he could have helped in any way, Jake is relieved that Mikey's talking to Ryan. It'll be far more beneficial for him to talk to his brother, the one person who seems to know him better than anyone.

It's his happiness that matters here, not Jake's.

Barely over an hour later, Mikey texts him _ry bread said hi back_

He's looking forward to meeting Ryan, something he can't really see being more than a few months away. It only depends on the timing of the Penguins first matchup against New Jersey. Jake wouldn't go so far as to say he's  _excited,_ but there's a certain comfort he imagines he'll find, meeting someone that's as important to Mikey as Ryan is.

It matters for a reason he can't seem to put a finger on.

Some corner of his mind laughs at him, jokes about "meeting the family," but there's no point in paying any attention to it.

He  _already_ knows how fucked he is here.

It's not news.

He just makes himself shift focus back to moving and all it entails.

-

Furniture shopping with no plan going into it is likely one of the more boring bullshit tasks he's going to have to go through, but he also knows that Mikey's day is bound to be miles worse.

All Jake has to deal with it not getting lost in IKEA while he makes an effort to have his purchases not look completely terrible when combined into one space, while Mikey has to deal with a somber flight back to New Jersey and the brand of hurt only playoff exits can bring.

He knows it's hard, so he does his best to make Mikey laugh, because while laughing won't put him back in the running for the Stanley Cup, it might make him feel just the smallest bit better.

Jake sends him a thousand pictures as he makes his way through the showrooms, making shitty puns with the Swedish words while also showing off a seemingly endless number of weird little knick-knacks and decor. The most fun part ends up being the game that sparks - Mikey tries to guess what the purpose of any given thing is based on its name or a picture of it.

One of these things in particular Jake doesn't even understand. He knows what it's meant to be used for, he just can't figure out why it was actually made.

_dude what is that_

_A candlestick_

That's what it's labelled, at least, and the array of other bizarre statues on this display are  _also_  candlesticks. There are dogs and fish that have to be put on their side to actually function and hold a candle, but this thing? This thing definitely takes the cake.

It's a small black ceramic statue of a seemingly random array of things with no attempt made at a scale that makes sense, including but not limited to a giant clown, a small dinosaur, and an even smaller elephant.

_what the fuck. why_

_I have no idea_

_you have to get it_

_Right. I have to get this candlestick. For all those candles I have._

_jakes you Gotta_

_Absolutely not_ he replies, putting one in his cart.

The checkout process takes longer than it usually would when he learns a handful of the items they didn't have in the warehouse weren't in the neighbouring storage building either. At least the solution is simple enough; instead of getting the items he can't fit in his car shipped today, he'll just wait a couple days until they get what they're missing in. That way it all gets shipped together.

It's actually more convenient that way, Jake figures on the way to the house. Now he only has to carry in what he has on him  _and_ now there's time to get it put together before more is added to his plate.

It's a little surreal, pulling into what's now  _his_ driveway. It's just a strange thought to have he supposes. Getting out of the car, he grabs the box with the candlestick and his phone which lights up with Mikey's contact right before he pockets it.

"What's up?" he greets, answering as he unlocks the front door.

"Nothing," Mikey replies quietly. "Just wanted to talk, I guess."

"Okay."

"You're not busy, are you?"

"No," he lies, putting the box on the kitchen island before he turns back to his car. It's furniture, not groceries. It doesn't need unloaded now.

"Okay good-" there's a pause as he takes a deep breath "-clean out is tomorrow." His struggle to make the statement sound matter of fact is evident in the heaviness in his voice.

"I'm sorry. At least you can look forward to going home."

It's not that great of a comfort, but it's the only one he can offer.

"Actually, I uh. I was going to ask if it would be okay if I just go straight to you."

"That's fine, yeah," he nods and stares down at the little white box in front of him. There's no possible way he'd have the house even close to ready tomorrow. He only has half his furniture. In pieces. In his car. On top of that, Mikey has been talking about wanting to go home, and Jake wants him to get to spend time with his family. "But," he continues, "shouldn't you go home first? Cali probably misses you."

"I know, and I can't wait to squish her face, but."

"But?"

"I wanna see _you._  I miss you."

"I miss you too, and I can't wait for you to be here, but you gotta take care of yourself first."

"I know. I _know,_  but I- what if- if I- there's- th- _fuck."_  He makes some more incoherent noises, stuttering like his brain is fighting with his mouth, one of them wanting the words to escape while the other does its best to keep them on lock. Jake knows the feeling well. "If I go home for a day, that counts, right?"

Jake can't help but laugh at that. "I dunno, mouse, I'm not your mom."

"Thank god for that."

"No arguments here. There's no way I could handle you all the time like that."

"And yet you've invited me into your home."

"Yeah, but I can make you leave."

"That's true. Would that be okay? If I flew in soon?"

"I already told you I'll be ready whenever-" he takes a deep breath "-don't worry about me. I'm serious. You need to put yourself first."

"What if putting myself first is going to _Minnesota_  first?"

Taken off guard, his world twists into knots in his stomach that spell out  _hope_ but the twine itself is made of braided fear and sharp doubt. It's impossible to know what to believe - hope is a dangerous game, and even the most innocuous ropes or wires can be barbed or shocking to the touch.

Best to be wary of it.

"Then I'll be waiting here."

"Okay," Mikey says after a moment. "I'll talk to Judes tomorrow after I get off the plane, but I'm sure they'd all be okay if I leave Wednesday."

"Works for me."

"Well, when are you gonna kick me out, Mister Not My Mom?"

"Hm," he hums like he's debating it, only to joke, "probably before we have to leave for camp."

"Damn, I was hoping I would just take up permanent residence on your couch."

It's almost hard not to let _I think I'd like that_ slip, so instead Jake rolls his eyes and quips, "I want my brand new couch to last until the end of the summer, thank you very much."

"How would I even manage to pull off destroying it? Do I have, like, laser vision that can disintegrate it if you're mean to me too much?"

"I don't know, but you never fail to surprise me."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Jakes. I  _do_ think I can manage to keep your couch in one piece for a week? Y'know, to make up for our series."

The grin that stretches across his face at the thought of spending an entire week with Mikey very nearly hurts. Jake couldn't be happier with that idea. "Good call. Make up for lost time."

"Exactly," Mikey laughs, "but hey, speaking of time, I'm gonna go the fuck to sleep. Just gotta get tomorrow over with."

"Take it easy, okay?"

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Mikey hangs up, and Jake is left holding his phone to his ear while it beeps at him, demanding his attention as he stares into the rooms that are no less empty than they were when he pulled into the driveway. They are, however, now a thousand times more daunting.

See, he's used to being in over his head when it comes to Mikey, but this is a new beast entirely.

In over his head, head over heels, that's just how it is, but in over his head with an empty house and the very real possibility that Mikey is going to be spending a week here starting in a very, very short two days is terrifying.

He could have said no, sure, but he wouldn't have.

Not when half the buzzing under his skin is excitement.

The other half - the tumultuous anxiety half - takes charge while he unloads the rest of the boxes as quickly as he can.

Fuck.

He breifly debates sticking around later than originally intended to get some of the furniture built, but a glance at the time is enough to know that would be counterproductive.

It'd be better if he just makes sure he gets some rest, because things just got a lot more interesting.

-

Overwhelming is probably more like it, and he realizes that the next morning in the same way one would realise there was a brick wall in front of them only after they crash headfirst into it.

He's spinning and spinning trying to come up with a game plan, and it's not unlike when you're young and playing pin the tail on the donkey and everyone else is shouting at you to walk in a straight line, but you're blindfolded and dizzy and wobbly on your feet and you don't know which direction is _straight_  to begin with.

It's a scrambled mess of before this gets done, this needs to get started, but before that I have to do this thing and that thing, and so on and so on like a tangled web with no finite beginning or semblance of a path.

The web is a sticky maze of responsibilities, and Jake is a mere fly that got lost into it, and any effort made to find a way out only makes things worse. The more he wiggles looking for an exit, the more his shaking wakes looming stress and a feeling that a spider is on its way.

The only chance at an out he can possibly see right now isn't an intersection, a starting point, a responsibility that stands on its own, but the tree that the web is stuck to. It's what gets him up and moving, clearing smaller cobwebs in his mind that don't need to be there as he walks back to the park, back to Fort Jake, back to the place wherein the help he needs lies with the peace of its familiarity.

The moment he sits in the swing, the cool, humid air around him refreshes his lungs, and he hadn't even noticed how hard it had gotten to breathe until it wasn't anymore.

It's easy enough to look at the small plastic penguin and the sun through the leaves above, to let the gentle breeze slowly deconstruct the web, one string at a time, until he's left with nothing more than the clearing around him and the sound of a crow nearby.

"I think I fucked up," he says lightly, biting his lip. "Fuck."

If someone were to ask him to specify what exactly it was he felt he fucked up, he'd have to laugh and weave them a tapestry of every single thing that has led to this point. He doesn't know why everything came down around him so quickly, leaving him feeling as though he's stuck under the rubble of a tower he didn't know was there to begin with.

He doesn't even know what the hell the tower is, but it's probably more important to look at why it had fallen in the first place.

That's not so difficult.

Mikey.

There wouldn't be a mess if he hadn't, well, everything about the two of them, actually.

Looking up at the branches stretching above him, it's easy to picture the path he'd taken, the forks at which he could have picked a direction differently. Even the smallest twigs lead to others, and some of those lead to even more.

Here he is, on the smallest one, sitting in the swing, wondering when another choice will appear before him, wondering if it'll follow the path of the unmistakable  _MM_ etched into the ones that came before it, or if this is where it stops.

Before that, there's agreeing to Mikey's visit starting even though he has nothing done - the choice that made the tower fall. He squints at the other direction it could have led, the one where he told him he needed more time, and it's too high to see clearly, but there's a picture paitned on the leaves there. He gets the house done and put together in time, and the worst case scenario makes itself known as he watches the two of them fail to make time for each other. He doesn't watch further, doesn't want to know.

It doesn't matter, anyway.

He could put a name to every break in the path if he tried, including the smaller ones that lead to even more. These little decisions don't really follow along with the main journey, looking less like branches and more like the veins under his skin, filling his heart and pumping more love than he knows what to do with, carrying it to every part of his body. They aren't as important in name but they are by nature. They branch off every part of the tree, and the more there were, the easier it was to make sure he was pointed in the right direction when it came to thoe bigger choices. Veins under his skin and backroads on a map - like the ones formed by the vines he saw here as a child - leading you back to the highway when you've gotten yourself turned around.

Mikey is the tree, and its smallest pieces come together to form Jake, and they're one in the same. Leaves and hopes, twigs and veins, branches and choices - it's them. It's Jake _and_  Mikey, and he sees the  _JG_ start to appear on some parts, proudly etching into the bark, taking its place below every  _MM._

It makes it easier to feel like he really has been doing everything right so far, like his current struggles will pass, and they'll be alright. Things don't look so bad from where he sits.

He looks at where he is now, and saying yes to the near-immediate visit, and _visit me,_  and even further back to deciding not to go out on their last game of the regular season, back to deciding to go out with only Mikey, Taylor, and Conor, back to an apology he didn't understand the reasoning of, back to the first night out with teammates and Devils alike, back to unintentionally ignoring the boy with the bright smile, back to shrugging at the offer to join them, back to figuring _why not?_

He doesn't look at where those other paths lead. Doesn't want to.

He has Mikey, for now and hopefully longer, has _had_  Mikey for months, and can't - or maybe _won't_  - let himself think about a single moment of it without his friend in it. He can't imagine living for so long watching warm pastel sunrises and brightly painted sunsets, only to spend time thinking about a world lived entirely in the night.

Stars are pretty, and he loves the moon, but nothing replaces warm sunlight kissing your cheeks when you step outside.

His friends are great, and he loves his team, but nothing replaces the warmth of Mikey's cheek pressed against his when they wrap their arms around each other.

He doesn't want to miss a sunset, and he doesn't want to let go.

Smiling softly, it's all too easy to remember that he doesn't have to yet. In fact, he gets to hold on for a week, gets seven sunrises and seven sunsets that aren't as dark or cold as they've felt even in the midst of summer.

The web still has no clear beginning or end when he finally stands and pats the maple tree in gratitude, but there's no fear left in it. He's not a trapped fly anymore, he’s the spider, and he's the one in control here.

The tree doesn't stop growing just because it doesn't know where the next split is going to be.

The house won't be perfect, it may even be nearly empty, but they'll figure something out.

-

Rather than dwelling on all the tasks and going right back to where he was before he'd left, it's easier just to do the things that come to mind, and when he walks into his bedroom, he sees the clothes in his closet and realises that even the small tasks can hold some importance. Simply throwing his unpacked clothes into a back or box neatly ties off all that needs to be done in this room, in this house, and after he's done with  _that,_ it's just a matter of the few things he's left unpacked so he would have them on hand up until he moved into the house. And that's what he's doing now.

It's still surreal.

He manages to fall into a rhythm that replaces the ticking of a clock, easily getting lost in the mindless motions of the task until his phone buzzes on the floor and reminds him that time does, in fact, continue moving while you fold t-shirt after t-shirt.

_hey Jakes u busy?_

_Nah_

_cool. ima call you_

In truly predictable Michael McLeod fashion, his phone rings before he can even think of replying.

"Hey," Mikey greets as soon as he answers, and he sounds a lot better than he has in a while. It adds to the relief he'd found earlier, his airy tone sinking into his sore muscles like icy hot after a bag skate. It's just as warm, but, y'know, with less peppermint smell. Not a bad trade. "Whatcha up to?"

"Packing up the rest of my clothes," he replies, looking at the quickly diminishing stack that still remains to be put away, "but I think it's about time I took a break."

"Oh yeah? Been working hard for what? Five minutes?"

"Shut up," he laughs, standing and stretching, unable to avoid the small gasp that escapes when his back pops. "Shit's been all over the place recently and I don't see that changing anytime soon."

 _"Wrong,"_ he says, with the confidence of some kind of Jake-centric prophet. "It'll turn around, 'cause I'm the best. I'm tellin' ya Jakes, I'll spin that shit right round like a record, baby. Right round."

"I don't even know where to start with what you just said," he shakes his head as he walks out to the back porch.

"Duh, that's because I'm right."

"Uh huh. Quick question, how long has it been since you slept?"

"No idea!" Mikey chirps loud enough Jake has to move his phone away from his ear for a second. "I've had three iced capps in the past hour. Holy shit man, I missed Tim's. Sacred Canadian grounds."

"Uh, you do know there's a Tim Horton's in Newark, right?"

It's almost like he can actually hear Mikey's world coming to a screeching halt. "Excuse me."

"Yeah? Mikey. It's in the Rock. Rusty and I went up to get one of the cups with Sid on it - we do that shit in every city we can."

"It's- what the fuck." There's a long pause before he sighs, "well, it's nice to be home, at least."

"I'm glad to hear it. Were you, uh - do you still plan on leaving right away, or-"

"Jakes. Yeah. Being home for one day isn't gonna make me not wanna see you. Like, Matt just took my fourth iced capp-"

"You got  _four?"_

"I _like_  them, okay? _And_  I got different flavours. I was saving the best for last 'n he stole it."

Jake laughs lightly, and just is grateful that he's spent so much time in Pittsburgh that he's able to keep up with Mikey talking at, like, a hundred words a minute. "You should probably ease up on the caffeine anyway."

"You're a traitor."

"Nope," he pops the 'p', "I'm neutral. Like Switzerland."

Mikey gasps, and he can practically _see_ him grasping at his chest like he's grabbing his pearls. "I'm telling Nico."

"Yeah? Telling him what, exactly?"

"I dunno. You're cheating. _Anyway_  I called because I jus' needa know if booking a flight in the morning would be okay or whatever."

"It doesn't matter to me at all," he says honestly, only to follow it with a drawn out, _"but..._  If you don't sleep, you're not allowed in my house."

"That's not nice, Jake 'n Bake me a cake."

He laughs, doubling over to rest his forehead on the porch railing. "You started singing Spin Me Round out of nowhere, like, two minutes ago. It's a reasonable statement."

"No I didn't? Wait. Did I? No, I-"

"You didn't _sing_  it, but you _were_  quoting it."

"What? When-" Mikey stops abruptly, sounding a little far away as he speaks, presumptuously _not_  to Jake. "What? No, dude, he's _my-_  okay sure, but- _fine."_  Then he speaks into the phone again, the slightest bit sullen, "hey, Ry wants to talk to you."

"Makes sense," Jake half shrugs, standing up properly. Well, it makes sense that that's who Mikey was talking to, but he doesn't really understand why Ryan wants to talk to him. "Sure, put him on."

"Hey, Guentz," Ryan says when he's handed the phone.

"Hey, baby cloud."

He sighs, and Jake can picture the Mikey Eyeroll likely coming from his brother. "Mikey tell you to call me that?"

"Definitely. But also, _my_  brother is Ry, and he's Clouder, so that makes you baby cloud by default."

"I'm not sure your math adds up."

"It doesn't? Jeez, what are they teaching in Ontario schools?" he teases, making his voice drip with as much mock consternation as he can possibly manage.

"Not much," he laughs. "But how are you? Mikey said you moved out?"

"Yeah. It's exhausting."

"I bet. Listen, uh-" there's some rustling followed by a muffled but definitely shouting Mikey "-Mike, fuckin' relax, I'm not telling him shit."

"You're not telling me what?" Jake asks slowly, mostly wishing he knew what the hell was going on on the other end of the call - Matt had already taken his coffee, so it isn't  _that_ he's shouting about.

"By telling you that, I wouldn't be not telling you."

"Uh, I guess?" Evidently, not making any sense is just some kind of McLeod thing.

"So I just wanted to say thanks," Ryan continues, and Jake only barely registers his words as he keeps going. "Mikey wasn't even gonna call you tonight, and sorry about, uh... _him-"_  Jake snorts "-but he wouldn't fuckin' shut up about wanting to talk to you, so I stole his phone and did it for him.  _But_ you should be happy I did it when I did and not earlier today, ‘cause like, some of the shit he wanted to tell you about even _I_  didn't understand, dude. I speak Mikey, and _'but Ryyyyy I'm special, 'cause my FBI agent_  loves _me. He doesn't snitch! I think? Gotta ask Jakes'_  had way too much to unpack to even try."

"Oh yeah," he laughs. "That's a whole thing; it's not important. But thanks I guess?"

He doesn't see why the instigatior of the call really matters.

"You seem to handle sleepy Mike in his prime well, though. Impressive."

"Handling Mikey at all is impressive," he counters, laughing lightly at himself, which is met with a genuine laugh out of Ryan.

"You catch on fast." For as cyptic as this whole chat has been, it's still easy, in a way. But that's probably just because he spends so much time talking to Mikey.

Well, it's easy until Ryan continues with, "I just wanted you to know I'm glad he has you."

His mouth starts replying so his brain doesn't even have to make an attempt at processing that. "I-"

"Just," he saves him from continuing, "take care of him?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding slowly. This has been a rollercoaster and a half, and the only thing happening in his brain at the moment is the screeching of dial up internet trying to connect. "I will."

"I know," Ryan replies, and it's a softer tone than he's heard from him, and it's a little difficult not to read into it.

Jake isn't really sure what it is he's agreeing to, but at the same time, it doesn't matter in the least. That - taking care of Mikey - is something he'd planned on doing anyway, in whatever way he can. Sure, it's unlikely to ever end up being in any semblance of the way he'd wish for, but it's still a guarantee for as long as Mikey will let it be.

It's, at its core, how this whole thing started, isn't it?

But Ryan probably means for the week, and - given his current state - that's an entirely valid thing to request of someone, but between still reeling from the past few minutes in general and once again diving head first into the shallow end of a pool expecting it to be deeper, he knows his voice is shaky and hesitant as he jokes, "I've babysat toddlers before. I know the drill; bed at nine, hide all the sugar."

There's a barely audible laugh on the other end, followed by, "yeah man you got it. Don't forget to have some bedtime stories ready to go."

"I have a good one about a boy who wants to be a prince that sells real estate."

He knows how siblings work, so it wasn't difficult to know that teasing Mikey would to be the simplest way to flip a conversation back to something more lighthearted.

"Sounds perfect. How does it end?"

"No spoilers, sorry."

"Aw damn," Ryan somehow manages to _sound_  like he's pouting. It's impossible not to wonder if the family comes from a long line of drama majors or some shit. Like ye old McLeods were the stars of the first performances of Shakespeare's plays.

"Okay I'll let you in on it," he lowers his voice like he's telling some very important secret, "he doesn't get a castle and he doesn't sell houses, but he meets a talking penguin and that's a thousand times cooler."

"Sounds like the prince doesn't get his fairy tale ending."

"Are you kidding? That's a great ending. Princesses get shit like birds and mice and deer or whatever, but he gets a talking penguin. That's a good trade."

"I guess that's true," he laughs. "And the story doesn't end there either, so-"

Jake waits for him to continue, but he doesn't, so he lightly urges him to finish his statement. "So..?"

"I dunno. It's your story, not mine. I'll give you back to Mikey now."

The conversation was getting back to the easy, natural sort, and of course Ryan just manages to give him whiplash again. He can't be making this shit up, right? Like, it's not some kind of weird illusion, he's not standing in the shallow end, the ground isn't below his feet - there's more to this pool after all.

There are more layers to peel back from everything that has been said than there are days in the year, and he really doesn't want to add any more to it.

"No, uh," he glances back at the house, "actually, I'm just gonna go. Tell him I'll text him tomorrow?"

"Sure. See ya, Jake."

"Later, baby cloud."

Ryan laughs lightly before he hangs up, and the moment the connection cuts, Jake is left staring at the screen, simultaneously attempting to process and ignore that interaction as a whole.

Maybe he'll just... put a pin in it.

He can let himself forget about the smaller things, the nonsense, and just let his brain sift through what's important enough to look at further. It's like panning for gold, but instead of a precious metal, it's just a lengthening list of questions that bear no answers. The gold rush probably would have been much less of a big deal if it were like that, huh? Everyone hurries to the west to risk their lives every day, just so they can get asked shit like 'you have a left shoe. Here is a paper cup. What is the horsepower of a poodle.'

'You have a talking penguin. Your ending isn't your ending. What are the precise coordinates of the prince's castle as observed from the geometric centre of the foyer.'

Okay, this is the polar opposite of what he intended to do, so he lets the peaceful in-between of dusk take his hand and lead him off this runaway train, floating to a new station as he looks out at his backyard - the one that won't be  _his_ anymore. It isn't really now, technically.

It's strange to think about, how two years ago he'd achieved what he'd spent his life chasing - and will continue to chase year after year until his bones won't let him anymore - and, yet, this past year has maybe been the biggest for him thus far. It's possibly just all part of growing up, he figures. There are a thousand things between here and retirement, and a million after that. Things he can't predict, can't plan for, and y'know what? He doesn't want to, anyway.

He doesn't want to know what lies ahead. Thinks that, if faced with the opportunity, he wouldn't  _want_ to see his future. Wouldn't want to know how many more, if any, cups he wins. When and with what team does he retire. Wouldn't want to know what lies after - both in terms of how he spends his time and who it's with. Doesn't want to see his family and who it's made of.

Some people follow these set paths, played out precisely the way the script is written for them. Maybe at a young age, they decide they found their profession, and they work towards it, and they work towards it, and it's their only focus. Until they find their high school sweetheart who sticks with him through and beyond college and they end up happily married with two and a half kids, landing that job they've always wanted.

Picking his profession and working towards it aside, it's never been like that with Jake. That's more than fine with him.

He wouldn't go back and tell that kid, awestruck with eyes like saucers as he hands sticks to Phil Kessel, that one day he'd play on his line, centred by Evgeni Malkin. Well, he plays on that line sometimes, until sometimes turns to rarely. He wouldn't want to tell that kid, sitting in front of a TV cheering on his Penguins that the reason he doesn't play with Phil and Geno is all his hard work paying off as he earns his spot at Crosby's side. Wouldn't tell him that he'd lift the Cup with him the year he gets there.

He wouldn't go back and tell the version of himself sitting heartbroken on a swing in the woods that it'll be okay, that Alex doesn't shape up to be his kind of person anyway.

He wouldn't tell him about Mikey.

He isn't even sure that there _is_  anything to tell about him. There isn't as of right now, not really.

Sure, there's how, even in such a short time, he wormed his way into Jake's heart, setting up camp there. How it's terrifying, and that in itself is exciting. There's phone calls and city lights and more love than he knows what to do with.

It's terrifying, but there's no doubt in his mind that simply meeting Mikey was only the first of many surprises he'd bring into his life, and the journey to seeing out the rest is the best part. He's the embodiment of not knowing that Jake finds makes life worth living, he can't tell what happens next, doesn't want to know, because the important thing is Mikey's there, and he helps keep life something worthwhile outside of hockey - something _special._

Maybe this ends up being a mirror of his past, sitting heartbroken on a swing in the woods. Maybe - hopefully - it doesn't. He doesn't know.

He didn't know a year ago he'd meet someone who'd become one of his best friends so quickly. Didn't know he'd end up too fond of a goofy smile and the quiet voice behind it. Didn't know he'd have the earliest - and arguably most heartbreaking - playoff exit of his NHL career. Didn't know he'd be buying a house, the house he starts to move boxes into tomorrow.

Doesn't know what will come of the next week, but such is the magic of Michael McLeod.

A firefly lands on his hand and starts to crawl around on it, and the soft motion finally helps to let everything really settle in his chest. The questions raised by the phone call melt away, reduced to nothing more than shadows that disappear with the bug's arhythmic flickering.

It reminds him of warm summer nights with his family, of chasing these little bugs with his brothers and putting them in mason jars with small, carefully poked holes in the lids. It makes him think of dreams and wishes and waiting.

It's been so long since then, and yet it also feels like it could have been just last week; as the firefly flies off, illuminating the air, taking its place amongst the rest of the blinking lights, small stars that live on Earth and write a new story every night - ever changing constellations. He thinks again of dreams and wishes and waiting, tacking on the wonder that children have - the kind he hopes he never loses. Maybe it has been so long since those warm summer nights, but he still has so far to go.

He has so far to go, and so little before Mikey gets here, and he can't wait to walk blindly into the next few days, weeks, months, whatever. He's got constant support from the ground under his feet, and the uncertain guidance of fluidity at his side in the form of someone he cares for more than most.  He wonders idly if the forest sent that firefly for him. He wonders if the magic he's held onto forever led him to Mikey, led him to  _his_ magic, to a sense of balance he hasn't found anywhere else.

When you get turned around in the woods, you're supposed to follow the flow of water, let it bring you to where you wish to end up. Streams and rivers hold your hand until you're not lost anymore.

Mikey's magic feels like that water. It's a constant, something that makes him feel less lost, but most importantly, it's unpredictable. The same spontenaity that Mikey brings into his life is the same unknowing that comes from floating down an uncharted river. It's out of your hands where you go, and somehow, it's still not scary. Mikey's impulses are fluid like the change of tides, and it's always interesting to see what shore it leads to.

Jake loves his forest, his trees and colourful flowers and singing birds, but he also knows he's gotten a little lost in it - compliant with things as they are, despite longing for something different, and there's crystal clear water that's not so far away, but still just out of reach, the ground between his feet and its edges covered in unidentifiable underbrush. He doesn't know if it has thorns or small barbs, if there's poison ivy nestled in otherwise unsuspecting leaves. He likes to think it's nothing more than plants that grow there only to create a common ground between the whispered secrets whistled amongst tall trees to be passed on to the saplings and the muted wisdom bubbling up from the currents that have seen it all and will continue to long after those walking along it are long gone.

Jake loses track of time staring at the tempting stream, and the moon is high in the sky, and he learns that the water's magic comes with the same dangers as those he worried about as a child on a wooden swing - it's far too easy to lose yourself in it.

And Mikey's not even here yet.

But magic is magic regardless of danger, and as Jake walks past his incomplete packing task to collapse into his bed, he doesn't even have the capability to worry about having abandoned it.

-

Maybe some of the peace of the night before managed to linger in his bones, as he gets out of bed and finishes up the little bit of packing before he even makes himself a cup of coffee.

His mother asks him what he'd be doing for the day, and when he explains most of the next few hours are going to be wasted while he tries to fit all of his boxes into his car, she just laughs at him.

"There's a method, Jake. It's not as hard as you think."

"I don't think that much stuff will fit in my car, momma."

"Wanna bet?"

He knows better than to bet against her on stuff like this, but the bait is too easy to take. There's  _no_ way it's possible. "You're on."

She's right, to no one's surprise, and Ryan laughs at him when he's told about when he shows up to help their father with something.

"You really bet against  _Mom?_ If you still pull dumb shit like that, who let you buy a house?"

"Mario Lemieux," he says, matter of fact, and his brother flips him off even as he laughs.

It's nice, hanging out with his family until he has to go to the house and unload everything while the cable guy sets up his internet and everything else that matters. He hopes that those people know they're really what holds society together.

Ryan even agrees to help him move the stuff from the IKEA delivery the next day into the right rooms, which is a relief in and of itself.

-

On the drive over to the house before the one hour "who knows when we'll be there" window starts, it occurs to Jake that he should  _probably_ call Mikey and see what's going on with flight times. Mostly, he'd just like to know what time he has to face the evil that is the airport on a weekday morning.

"Hey, Jakes! You're on speaker," Mikey says as soon as he answers the phone, sounding like he was mid-laugh.

"I feel like I'm not the one that needs to be warned about that."

Mikey scoffs. "I've never done anything wrong in my life."

"Right. Of course, my little archangel. How could I forget? How was your day?"

He audibly chokes on his words a little before he manages to say, "pretty good actually. I'm chillin' with Nater."

"Hi Jake," Nate says, amused as he makes his presence known.

"Hi Nate." So the game plan here is immediately switched in Jake's mind, pleasant small talk to relax making a solid one-eighty to cutting to chase so he can act like Nate  _didn't_ just hear him call Mikey 'my little archangel.' "Sorry for calling, I'll leave you two alone, just wanted to know when your flight is."

"Nine-ish? I should land between eleven and twelve I think?"

"You don't know when your flight is?"

"It's a tomorrow problem," Mikey says and Jake hears Nate sigh at the same time he does. "I have a ballpark."

"Just try not to miss the plane."

"Obviously. I wouldn't wanna crush your dreams like that."

"Right," Jake rolls his eyes, "my dream is to wait in arrivals at Minneapolis International Airport on a Wednesday morning."

"As it should be." Something in his tone alone makes him think of birds that puff out their chest to show off how important they are. Or whatever they do that for. He doesn't know much about birds. "I'm just here to make your dreams come true."

"Any dream or just this one?"

There's shuffling and muffled laughter he assumes is coming from Nate before he gets a response from Mikey.

"Uh. Reply hazy, try again later."

"Are you pretending to be a magic 8 ball?"

"No," Nate answers, "he literally has one in his hand and shook it."

 _There's_ the unsurprising disbelief that he's helpless but to laugh at. "Of course."

"The ball is  _magic_ guys. It knows things."

"I hope it knows you're an adult," Nate teases. "Ask it that."

"No-"

"Then gimme it-"

_"Nathan-"_

"Says here..." he laughs like he's bursting with it "better not tell you now."

"Jakes, tell him I'm-"

"Do not drag me into this, Michael." As funny as it is.

"Will you ever be on my side? What kinda friend are you?"

"The best kind." His chest flutters a little when he hardly manages to breathe out, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mikey."

Not even the idiotic conversation they've just had can take away the weight of finally being able to say those words and mean _in person_  instead of a staticy video behind a screen.

"Yes you will," he says, and maybe Jake is hearing things when it sounds like he's a little breathless too. "I love you."

"Love you too."

He hears Nate laughing again just before the call ends, but he doesn't get to dwell on that, because the cable van pulls up just as he puts his phone back in his pocket.

All that's left to do is stay out of the guy's way as best as he can, carrying box after box into the house until both of them are done for the day.

He doesn't bother making an attempt at putting anything away, knowing there's no point without any furniture, and then why start putting furniture together now when he could just wake up a little earlier and get the bare minimum for a living space done before he has to get Mikey.

It's a tomorrow Jake problem. He can handle it.

One thing he  _does_ think to do, at least, is stop at Walmart on the way home to pick up an air mattress. A smart move to make when his  _actual_ mattress wouldn't be in for another two days. It makes it easy enough to fall asleep feeling accomplished, at bare minimum.

-

Everything feels like it'll actually go according to plan in the morning until he walks into the dining room half asleep and his father looks surprised to see him.

That's not the best sign.

"I thought you were going to leave at six?"

"Were?" he asks, and a glance at the clock makes his heart fall directly into his stomach.  _How._ How could he sleep through his alarm  _today._ "Fuck."

"When's your friend getting in?"

"Little over an hour."

"I'd get going, then."

"I know," Jake sighs, grabbing his car keys. "Bye, Dad."

"Good luck."

It's all happened so quickly, he thinks as he carries the air mattress into the house. Last night alone felt like he still had ages until Mikey would be here, but Jake blinked and he's going to be landing in an  _hour._

It's strange how sleeping can fast-forward time. He's never really liked that feeling.

The air pump echoes in the empty room, and Jake feels his chest slowly inflate along with it. It hasn't felt real until now, not really. Not even talking about the flight felt like this - a turning fan in his hand, the deafening rush of wind and the crinkling of expanding rubber loud in his ears. _It's real._

Mikey lands today. Mikey.

He stares at the air mattress as the second layer begins to fill, and lets his thoughts help the air along, stuffing them into the mattress like stolen money stashed away so it can't be found. If he hides these thoughts, these overly heavy words, somewhere behind the little plastic cap, Mikey won't be able to find them, won't know the full extent of Jake's 'I love you's.

This way, as long as the rubber doesn't pop, he'll be safe.

It's not enough to just lock the thoughts and feelings up in his own head, not when it's difficult as is and he knows it'll get harder with Mikey around for so long. It's best to split them up.

He'd really hoped the offseason would lessen this endless longing, but really, all it's done is worsen it, and it's stronger than Jake's own resolve, sometimes.

He misses Mikey. So much.

He gets to have him within reach again sooner than he can fathom.

He loves Mikey. So much.

It fills his chest and the air mattress until both are nearly bursting at the seams. It's far easier to put the cap on the bed than it is to put one on his heart.

Walking into the living room, Jake watches as the boxes of belongings and furniture alike slowly turn into more of those bricks he'd found the first time he'd stepped foot in this house, and they're coming together, slowly but surely. The mess is aligning on its own, bricks arranging into neat little rows.

It's a breath of fresh air, being able to step back and see the foundations of _home_  falling into place.

All he's missing now is the mortar.

Well, and his furniture.

And time. He sure could use more time.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Jake rests his head against the wheel as he starts the car with a sigh. He's the worst friend. _Sure! Come stay with me for a week! We can do fun things like sit on the floor and find shapes in the ceiling! Or we could make a fort out of this lovely array of yet to be unpacked boxes! Want to sit? I've got this entire floor! Maybe I can even find you a pillow!_

-

 

With a drawn out exhale that's drowned out by the sound of a flight taking off, Jake feels his anxieties floating away, and the next deep breath as he pulls into a parking space lets a sense of peace sink into his bones.

It was real when he was on the phone with Mikey and then Ryan.

It was real when they'd talked about the flight the previous night - just hours ago.

It was real this morning, everything blurring together so it feels like mere seconds ago, a song sung by roaring air backed with a beautiful cacophony of expanding rubber.

It's been real since the moment Mikey called him after the loss, but, even as it got closer and closer to _now,_  it has never felt quite like this.

There's no  _real_ that can compare to the buzzing cold air of arrivals and the sight of _YYZ to MSP: Landed_ printed across the screens hung every few feet like small beacons of hope.

It's real when Mikey comes into view, and the way Jake's chest feels lighter is real too - the air easier to breathe now that they're together again. It's real, but it doesn't feel it, like it's all a dream, and the way Mikey's face lights up when they make eye contact is what dreams are made of. No doubt about that.

Mikey picks up the pace, then, and Jake has to resist the urge to meet him halfway until the moment he's wrapped up in a crushing hug.

Jake has been home for over a month but he hasn't felt the comfort of it until right now, Mikey's presence in a place Jake isn't used to him being in brings two familiarities together into something intoxicatingly unfamiliar.

They're still in the airport.

"I'm proud of you," he says at the same time Mikey says "I missed you."

"Thanks," and "I missed you too," and he doesn't want to let go yet.

Unfortunately he has to.

"Baggage?" he asks, taking Mikey's carry-on from him.

"Just that," he shrugs with one shoulder. "Didn't wanna check a bag. I  _do_ wanna fuckin' eat, though. If I don't get lunch right now, I'll starve to death right here and I woulda dealt with customs for  _nothing_ Jakes."

"You're the most over-dramatic person I've ever met."

"Then you haven't met Dylan Strome," he says over his shoulder as he walks off. "I want a Big Mac. Where's the McDonald's?"

Jake sighs, shaking his head before he hurries to catch up to his friend so he can steer them in the right direction. Once he gets his burger and fries, Mikey chats happily with his mouth full all the way to the car, and most of it isn't intelligible, but it's not like it matters, really. It's still sinking in that Mikey's  _there._ In arms reach and everything.

"So, uh, mouse," Jake scratches the back of his neck after placing the luggage in the back seat of his car and shutting the door. "Just so you know, there's not really anything in the house yet."

"Okay?" Mikey shurghs, opening the passenger door with the hand that isn't holding his bag of fries. He waits until Jake gets in the car to continue. "What, are you afraid I'm gonna call you boring because of your decor again?"

"No," he laughs for a brief moment until it fades and he bites his lip. "There isn't any 'decor' to be boring. I really did  _just_ move in, so I have, uh. Kinda no furniture at all? Like, I have  _some,_ but it's all in boxes, and I think the rest is supposed to get here today and my brother said he'd help me with it, and-" he takes a deep breath, reminding himself to slow down. "That's pretty much it. No finished furniture."

Mikey frowns. "You could have told me to give you some time, Jakes. I didn't want to be in the way."

"You're never gonna be in the way," Jake promises. "I was just warning you. If you'd rather stay in a hotel or-"

"No, I'm fine with staying with you and helping out. I wanna see the house, and IKEA furniture is fuckin fun, like a puzzle you can sit on."

"You can sit on a regular puzzle if you want," Jake laughs, starting the car, finally feeling better.

"I mean,  _yeah._ Hey, d'you have an aux in here somewhere?"

The answer to that question is yes, and that leads to a car ride with Mikey loudly singing along to music while he eats his fries. It's pretty terrible, but Jake hasn't ever felt as light as he does when Mikey pauses and decides it's in his best interest to feed him fries while he drives. It's not the best thing in terms of his ability to focus on the road, but it's one of the best things in terms of how happy his heart can get over such small things.

-

Once they finally get back to the house, Jake hands Mikey the key so he can unlock the door and head in while he plays good host and brings in the suitcase. It seems like a relatively normal thing to do in a maybe not so normal situation- one that gets even less normal when he walks into the house and everything collapses around him for the second time this week. Except this time, it's not collapsing. It's building.

Mikey's spinning a little in the empty living room like he had in Jake's apartment in Pittsburgh, this time with a McDoland's bag in hand, and this time overwhelming enough that Jake's stomach spins with him.

"You did a good job," he grins at him, "I like it."

He wanders into the kitchen, and Jake watches him go, but he's distracted. He's distracted as he looks around his living room and its array of boxes and he sees those bricks lining up more and more, but they're not merely stacks anymore.

There's- 

"Jakes! You got the clown thing!" Mikey shouts before he walks back into the room, beaming with the candlestick in his hands replacing the paper bag. "I knew you would. It even has a little mouse." He pats the little ceramic mouse's head, and all Jake can do is smile back at him.

-there's mortar, this time. Mikey investigates the little statue further, looking at every little detail on it like it's the most amazing thing he's ever seen, and bricks that come together to build walls spell out  _home._ The shovel clinks under the sand, and x marks the spot where Mikey stands.

“So,” Jake swallows, fighting back tears. “I’ll go put this in the bedroom and we can get to work, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” he gives a thumbs up, and Jake wants to kiss him more than anything, wants to tell him he loves him, wants to thank him for being his home, wants wants  _wants,_ but instead he drags more baggage than just Mikey's suitcase into his bedroom. It's going to be a lot harder to maintain his cool over the next seven days, after all.

Especially when he doesn't even know if the mortar has long enough to dry, or if when Mikey leaves the rain will wash it away, and he'll be left with only bricks again.

"Are you okay?" Mikey asks as soon as Jake walks into the kitchen, looking concerned from where he's sitting on the kitchen island, the candlestick sitting next to him.

Maybe he isn't doing the best job of hiding back tears after all. He doesn't know what they're for, which emotion is pricking at his tear ducts, all he knows is he's really, really fucking overwhelmed.

That much is obvious when his voice shakes as he says, "I'm just really fucking happy you're here, mouse."

Mikey's smile seems a little watery too when he slides off the counter and wipes away the tears that managed to escape with his thumb. "Me too, Jakes."

He tries not to get his shirt too wet when his friend pulls him into a tight hug that tilts the earth back onto its correct axis. He doesn't know how long they hold onto each other, but it's both long enough and far too short. The important things remain the same; Mikey's here, and Jake loves him, and the house is  _home,_ and he may have no furniture, but he has the world in his arms, and why the hell would he need anything else?

Actually, the furniture would be pretty nice to have.

- 

Later, Mikey’s putting together what he thinks might be the coffee table, staring down at the instructions; looking equal parts confused and determined, with a screw in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. Jake wants to laugh, but at the same time, it’s. This is a whole lot - Mikey helping him piece together too-complicated furniture in an empty house, and it’s maybe a little too easy to imagine it being theirs. Their furniture, their house.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t look up and his expression doesn’t change even a little when he replies, “I love you too-” a pause, looking away from the directions to helplessly stare at the parts scattered in front of him “-I don’t love this.”

Jake laughs, and Mikey looks up at him, a small smile on his face before it sets into that dumb smirk of his. “Bet I can build this before you finish that.”

“Yeah? How much?”

“Dinner.”

Jake shakes his head, laughing lightly. “Alright, deal.”

So, yeah, he’s definitely in love with this loser. And maybe he moves a little slower than usual to finish up the bookshelf, and maybe it’s worth it for the look on Mikey’s face when he finished first and declares _“dinner’s on you Jakes.”_ And maybe, someday, they’ll have this exact situation again, and Jake won’t have to swallow how badly he wants to kiss him.

When they get the spare parts and styrofoam cleaned up, it’s late enough that they can get dinner, and Jake offers to go out to eat - there are some pretty good small restaurants around here, but in the end they just order a couple pizzas. Mikey’s tired enough from the flight that he’d rather stay in today, anyway, and neither of them are complaining at the promise of pizza.

While he does feel a little bad that this is how they’re spending their time here when it’s _definitely_ not what Mikey’d been expecting, he’s still glad that he’s here. For an extra set of hands, yeah, sure, but mostly because this would be really lonely otherwise. Instead, he gets this. He gets pizza and some movie that Mikey _insists_ he see. He gets to just sit on the floor and enjoy his night with this person he loves so much.

It must just be a Mikey thing, he thinks when Mikey lays on the floor in front of him, resting his head in Jake’s lap. It’s just something he does, probably - worming his way into people’s hearts with his way of making chaos oddly charming. He wonders how many people get these peaceful little moments as Mikey looks up at him, smiling softly. He could name a few, but he doubts it’s too many.

“Y’know, if any cheese falls off my pizza, it’s gonna land right on your face.”

“Sure, but then I can eat it. What’s the problem?”

“You’re fucking weird, Clouder.”

“Whatever you say, little bird.”

The nickname makes his stomach flip, and he fights the red that he knows is probably starting to make its way across his face with, “I’m not little.”

“No?” Mikey laughs, reaching up to poke his cheek. “Last I checked you were pretty small.”

“I’m like, three inches shorter than you.”

“Exactly. Small.”

“That is _not_ how it works.”

“Pretty sure it is. I bet I could lift you easily.”

Jake shakes his head with a light laugh, “yeah, okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

He just shrugs. It’s pretty damn likely that Mikey could lift him, easily maybe, but he’s gotten himself too deep into this argument to budge on it. This is as noncommittal as he could get.

It didn’t do the trick, apparently, because Mikey stands up and holds out a hand to help him up too. “C’mon.”

He takes it and reluctantly stands up, mostly expecting him to just wrap his arms around Jake’s waist and lift, or at worst scoop him up bridal style. Instead, in one quick motion, he lifts him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, and this is actually much worse in terms of pride, he thinks.

“Easy,” Mikey says, and Jake isn’t at an angle where he can see his expression, but he’d bet it’s the same one from earlier with the furniture.

“Fine, you win,” he sighs dramatically, as if he’d actually doubted Mikey in the first place.

“Uh huh,” Mikey starts walking towards the kitchen, “I always do.”

“Where are you taking me?” He knows he just sounds defeated, mostly giving up hope that he’s going to be on his own feet anytime soon.

“Haven’t decided yet. Maybe we’ll go on a tour.”

“Of my own house?”

“Sure,” Mikey says, walking around the kitchen island twice, “this is the kitchen. Kinda. There aren’t any plates. Or anything at all.”

“Michael, I swear to _god,”_ he laughs, patting his chest. “Put me down.”

“Nope-” he pops the ‘p’ “-you’re stuck like this, sorry.”

“You are absolutely _not_ sorry.”

“Nope,” he repeats. “Not a bit.”

“Jake?” a voice calls from the living room, and before Jake or Mikey could react, Ryan is standing in the entry to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Jake waves weakly, patting Mikey’s chest again and he finally gets put down. “Uh, Ry, this is Mikey. Mikey, this is _my_ Ryan,” he gestures between the two of them.

His brother nods to him and Mikey returns it. “You didn’t answer your phone, so I just came in. Sorry if I was, uh-”

“No,” Jake cuts him off before he can finish, “you’re fine. I guess I left my phone in my room is all.”

“Alright, well, I passed a delivery truck a few blocks ago, so-" there's a knock at the door "-there they are."

"Oh." Good timing. Mostly. The delivery timing was good, and so was Ryan's, but the timing of Mikey's grand tour? Not so much.

"Uh huh. Let’s get this shit in here so I can go home. Is he helping?”

“Sure,” Mikey shrugs before turning to Jake, “I told Bas I’d call him tonight, so-”

“It’s fine,” he smiles, “you don’t have to help with all of it. Or any of it, really.”

“Well, I don’t want to sit on the floor all week, so the sooner you have some furniture the better. You’re not a great pillow.”

“I don’t know why I like you so much when all you do is insult me.”

“I’m charming, Jakes,” Mikey laughs and pats Jake’s cheek.

“Yeah, okay,” he rolls his eyes, “let’s just get this done.”

There's not too much to do when the delivery guys do the heavy lifting, moving the assembled furniture in themselves even though Jake assures him they're more than capable of helping. They have rules, he knows this, but it isn't any less frustrating that they only cave enough to let them carry boxes.

After the pieces of sectional get put in the living room, Jake tells Mikey where it’s supposed to go, and he gives a mock salute before pushing the pieces around while Jake and Ryan head back outside to get what's left in the truck. 

They don't make it off the porch before Ryan stops him, grabbing his elbow as he gives Jake a look he doesn’t understand.

“What?”

“What’s the deal here?”

“We’re moving boxes?” Jake says slowly, “which, thanks again for the help. Even if I guess we didn't really need it."

"That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

No, no he does not know that. “Uh-”

“Oh my god,” Ry sighs. “With the kid, Jake.”

“Oh,” he scratches at the back of his neck. “He’s a friend, plays for-”

“New Jersey, yeah, I know."

Right. They watched a few of the games together. 

"Yeah."

"Hey," Mikey pokes his head out of the door, "couch is good. I'm gonna go call Nater if that's okay."

"You don't need to ask for permission," Jake laughs. "Of course you can."

"Thanks babe," he grins, doing finger guns before retreating into the house.

"Don't look at me like that," he tells Ryan before he can even see the look on his face. He knows what it is anyway. "He's never done that before."

"If you don't wanna talk about it or whatever-"

"There's nothing to talk about," Jake shrugs and holds a hand out for the clipboard when the delivery driver walks up to him with it. "So don't worry about it." Looking up at the guy as he hands the now signed papers back, he smiles politely. "Thanks."

"Alright, whatever you say." Ryan sighs when Jake stays silent even after the IKEA employees drive away. "Sorry I asked."

"Don't worry about it. Thanks again for the help, Ry."

"Any time, J."

"I know."

Once he's out of sight, Jake goes to find Mikey, and as he approaches his bedroom, he hears someone talking that he assumes is Nate.

_“Mikey. I love you bud, but if you don’t tell-”_

As soon as he enters the doorway, Mikey lights up, saying “hey, Jake,” a little louder than necessary. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, we finished up. Just gotta move shit around later. I’ll leave you to-”

“No,” Mikey shakes his head and reaches out with the hand that isn’t holding his phone, “c’mere.”

He hesitates for a second, because he doesn’t want to, like, intrude, but Mikey’s smiling at him, and that’s the end of that train of thought. He walks over to the air mattress, wondering if he’ll ever be able to deny what Mikey asks for. It seems pretty unlikely at this point.

He scoots over so there’s enough room for Jake to sit down, and it’s almost like a reflex when he immediately puts an arm around Mikey’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“‘Sup,” Nate waves.

Jake shrugs, “dealing with moving _and_ this pain in the ass.”

“Hey, I helped.”

“You sure did.”

He doesn’t have much to talk about with Nate, so he’s pretty content to just listen to those two go back and forth, offering input - mostly in the form of little comments or correcting Mikey’s stories - every now and then. At some point he moves his arm from around Mikey’s shoulders to around his waist so he can rest his head on his shoulder instead.

“I gotta go,” Nate says, “and for the record, Ry agrees with me.”

Mikey sighs. “When doesn’t he?”

That earns a laugh out of him. “Usually. Just talk to him at some point, okay?”

“Sure, dad. I was going to anyway.”

“You know what I meant.”

Mikey makes a face. “I thought you said you had to go.”

“You’re so difficult,” Nate shakes his head. “G’night, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Jake waves half-heartedly at the screen, “bye, Nate.”

“See ya, Jake.”

The call ends and Mikey sighs, turning to Jake with a smile that looks a little sad. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jake says instead of _what’s wrong_ and the smile gets sadder and he wonders what he did wrong there. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good, just tired,” he says, and he doesn’t look like he’s good, but he’ll take him at his word.

“Okay,” he lets go of Mikey and stands up, stretching. “Do you wanna sleep in here or on the couch?”

He glances around at the room before he looks down at his hands for a moment, and Jake didn’t expect this to be a difficult question. He looks up, almost hesitant. “In here, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods. “I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”

“I guess.”

Jake digs through one of the boxes of clothes until he finds a pair of old sweats to sleep in, and when he grabs a blanket and a pillow Mikey looks at him, confused. “Where are you going?”

“The couch?”

“Oh. I thought-” he shakes his head like he’s clearing his own thoughts. “Never mind. Night, Jakes.”

“Night, Clouder. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sleeping alone on a couch when he knows Mikey is just a room away instead of hundreds of miles is far harder than he'd like to admit, and it takes a few hours of tossing and turning to finally doze off.

-

Mikey’s still asleep when he wakes up the next morning, so he searches as quietly as he can manage through the few boxes in the kitchen until he finds the coffee maker he’d bought his freshman year at UNO.

Unfortunately, he failed to  _also_ bring coffee grounds, so he makes the executive decision to go out to the nearest Starbucks and get two cups of coffee, leaving a note on the counter on the back of a receipt he found in his wallet in the event that Mikey wakes up before he gets back. _Went to get coffee. Call me._

The second part was mostly in the event he sees it before Jake orders the drinks, that way he’ll know what to get. If he doesn’t, he’ll just have to ask for a few creamers or whatever. It didn’t matter, evidently, as he gets to the front of the line and still no phone call. He just hopes he got enough cream and sugar packets, because he has a feeling Mikey is the “mostly cream with a little coffee” kind of person.

He gets a couple pieces of coffee cake for breakfast, too.

Jake quietly walks into the house, and the note is exactly where he left it. Setting the bag and drinks down on the counter, he crumples it up and stuffs it in his pocket, wondering if he should wake Mikey up while the coffee’s still hot or if he should just let him sleep.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Mikey walks into the kitchen with a yawn. “Mornin’ little bird.”

“Hey,” Jake smiles, and he can tell it’s too soft, but it’s not like he can help it. Not when Mikey’s hair is a mess and there are lines on his cheek from the pillowcase, and he’s in his kitchen and he called him little bird again and. He could get used to this, is all. He shouldn’t. He will. “I got breakfast and coffee.”

“I love you,” he sighs happily and grabs one of the cups and a handful of the creamers.

“Good to know caffeine is the way to your heart,” he jokes.

He stills, and Jake wonders if he somehow crossed a line, but he relaxes and just offers, “it’s one of them.”

He’d like to know the rest of them. Like to _be_ the rest of them.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Mikey asks, reaching into the bag and pulling out one piece of the coffee cake.

“Well,” he says slowly, scratching the back of his neck, “I  _would_  spend most of the day unpacking and finishing the furniture, but I need to get groceries first, ‘cause I have nothing. But if you want to do something else-”

“No, that works,” he interrupts through a mouthful of food, swallowing before he continues. “The point of being here was to see you. I don’t really care what we do.”

The words settle somewhere in his chest, and they make him feel a little lighter. “Alright. My mattress is supposed to get here today, so I guess we shouldn’t leave until after that.”

“Solid,” Mikey takes another bite of the cake in his hand. “Good plan.”

“Do you always talk with your mouth full?”

“Usually.”

“You’re something else,” he shakes his head, fond, “I hope you know that.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.”

-

The day goes by pretty quickly after that, working together to get the bedframe done as well as the TV stand, which only took priority because of the couch. Once the mattress arrived, Jake had to stop Mikey from trying to open the box in the living room. He’s just glad he caught that in time, or else it would have been a pain to get into the bedroom. Grocery shopping quickly turns into ‘I actually have nothing’ shopping - needing to stock more than just his fridge. By the end of _that_ adventure and the task of getting it all inside, both of them were about ready to go back to sleep.

Mikey offers to make one of the boxes of mac and cheese while Jake puts everything else away - and just finding the box and the pot to do so was another whole ordeal.

“I get the feeling that I’m going to keep going back to the store because I missed something,” Jake sighs once they’re on the couch, eating the pasta out of the pot because he’d forgotten _bowls._

“Yeah, for sure,” Mikey laughs. “Do me a favour and make a list of all of it.”

“Planning on holding it against me forever?” he guesses, bumping their shoulders together.

“Oh definitely. But I was thinking more so I have a list of shit to get whenever I end up being an adult or whatever.”

“Pretty sure you’re already an adult.”

“Technically.”

“Legally.”

_“Technically.”_

They spend the rest of the night just watching Netflix on the couch, Mikey laying with his head in Jake’s lap, and Jake can’t help but play with his hair, gently carding his fingers through it. It’s nice, and peaceful, and heartbreakingly domestic. He’s making everything harder on himself, he knows, but at the same time he wouldn’t change it. Wouldn’t change any of this, not when he gets Mikey sighing overdramatically, throwing his arms up and nearly falling off the couch because _“my brother won’t get off my fucking case.”_

Jake laughs and pats his chest in sympathy.

Mikey doesn’t explain any further, and Jake doesn’t ask.

Once it’s late enough that Mikey won’t stop yawning, he pokes his cheek. “Go to bed, Mikey.”

“Mhm,” he hums closing his eyes.

“I’m not gonna carry you there if you fall asleep.”

“Not fair, I carried you.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“That’s not the point.”

He shakes his head and cups Mikey’s cheek with one hand until he opens his eyes again, and Jake wants to kiss him so badly. He could, too. He shouldn’t, so he won’t. It’s better that he doesn’t. Instead he smiles softly. “Go get some sleep.”

Mikey frowns and sits up, turning so he’s facing him again. “Shouldn’t you sleep in your bed? Like, you just got it.”

“I’ll be okay on the couch,” he shrugs. “You’re the guest y’know.”

“Yeah, but I meant-” he stops himself and stands up, not continuing that train of thought. “Good night, Jake.”

“Night, Mikey.”

The second night alone is worse than the first one. Of course it is. It’s only fair that the nights this week be so difficult, because something needs to balance out the days that’re some of the best he’s had in a while. Can’t have both, shouldn’t expect both. That’s not how it works, after all. He falls asleep faster, at least, if only because he slept so poorly the night before. He’ll take it.

-

He wakes up to hushed speaking in the kitchen. The source? Mikey, trying to get the coffee maker to work.

 _“Don’t make that noise at me, man, help me out a little. Yes, I see the red light is on but I don’t know what the fuck it_ _means_ _.”_

Jake laughs, and Mikey looks into the living room, bashful. The red on his cheeks from being caught is cute, and it’s a little too early for the butterflies in Jake’s stomach to be fluttering around, but they are anyway.

“You got coffee yesterday, so,” he gestures helplessly to the machine.

It’s the thought that counts.

“Have you never used a coffee pot?” he laughs, joining him in the kitchen. “‘Cause they’re all the same, pretty much.”

“I have a Keurig, so not really, no.”

“Then I’ll show you,” Jake smiles softly, wrapping an arm around his waist like it’s the easiest thing in the world. In this moment, it is. “It’s in the top ten most important skills to have, at least. Maybe top five.”

“Oh yeah?” Mikey smiles back, his face a slightly darker red when his leans his head against Jake’s shoulder. “That big a deal?”

“Definitely,” he nods, trying to get the coffee started with one free hand. “Most adult things you only have to do a couple of times. Coffee is forever.”

“I see your point.”

This isn’t a process that takes a long time, but he draws it out, and as they wait in silence while it brews, Jake lightly rubs his thumb back and forth where it rests against Mikey’s side.

Everything about the morning has already been painfully domestic, even more so than the past two days have been, and he isn’t even out of the haze that lingers after sleeping in. That haze might just be why, when he pours Mikey a mug and hands it to him, Jake punctuates “see? Not so bad,” with a gentle, fleeting kiss on his nose.

Enough of his brain wakes up to tell him what a bad idea that was, but that little grin of Mikey’s that he loves so much easily chases it away.

“Not so bad,” he agrees.

Without even pouring himself a cup, Jake’s chest fills with the warmth that comes with drinking hot coffee. It’s the same warmth he finds in a soft voice and pale blue eyes.

“Love you, mouse.”

“Love you too, little bird.”

-

Jake offers to go out and do something, like, they don’t have to stay in the house for the whole week, but Mikey claims that he’d rather just spend the day in because they’d spent so much of the day before running around. He can’t argue with that, so they just hook up his Xbox in the living room and spend the day jumping between various games and streaming movies. It’s probably Jake’s favourite day so far, considering he had Mikey pressed against his side for hours, his laughter filling his ears and the space in his chest he hadn’t even noticed was vacant.

They order pasta from the pizza place in an attempt to at least _pretend_ they’re eating healthy, and Mikey steals some of Jake’s, and he pretends he’s upset about it, which just ends in Mikey holding out a forkful of his, _“so we’ll be even.”_

He takes it and tries to will his stomach to not do flips, but it’s an attempt made in vain.

“Okay,” Mikey says from the table while Jake puts their forks in the dishwasher. “I think Ryan and Nate are going to fly out here and kick my ass. Just so you know.”

“They’ll fly out here instead of waiting a few days? Wow. What’d you do?” he teases and leans against the counter.

“Nothing,” he mutters, looking straight ahead at the wall in front of him. “That’s the problem.”

His amusement turns to concern at that. “Hey,” he says softly, “what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he waves a hand around dismissively. “Not really.”

“I don’t follow.”

Mikey turns to him, then, and he looks determined, and Jake is struggling to keep up here. “You don’t have to keep sleeping on the couch just because I’m here.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I’m not gonna make _you_ take the couch.”

“When did I say I’d do that?”

“I don’t-”

Mikey runs a hand down his face, sighing. “Just come sleep in the fucking bed with me, Jakes.”

His heart stops for a moment, and he feels a little bit like he needs to pinch himself, but that would be pretty fucking stupid. “I didn’t- are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, just slightly. “Positive.”

Other than grabbing clothes for the day and putting the sheets on the bed, Jake hasn’t really been in his own room that much. That just makes walking into it and seeing it so… lived in that much more overwhelming. The sheets are a mess, and the comforter is at the bottom of the bed, some clothes on the floor, and-

And Mikey.

Mikey, who goes into the bathroom to finish getting ready to go to bed and comes back into the room in a worn out Mavericks Hockey t-shirt.

“Where’d you even find that?” Jake asks, feeling a little breathless.

“It was just on the floor by the boxes,” Mikey shrugs. “Guess it fell out when you were looking for something, ‘n I was gonna put it back, but it’s really fuckin’ soft, so I just. Didn’t.”

He sits down on the bed, and Jake stands there for a moment and thinks back to the night in his apartment, to Mikey sitting on his bed and _wanting,_ and how now he’s here - _they’re_ here - and he’s got it, but not quite. He’ll take what he can get, and this alone is more than he’d expected. Then he remembers something else and goes into his suitcase, pulling the small rock out of the pocket he’d stuffed it in. He'd completely forgotten about it.

“You still have that weird rock?” Mikey eyes it when Jake puts it on the bedside table.

“I still have it, and it’s still just a rock,” he laughs. “You’re the weird one.”

“Whatever you say,” he mutters, laying down and pulling the comforter up to his shoulders.

Jake shakes his head and climbs into bed, and he’d forgotten how nice it is to sleep on an actual mattress, which is maybe a  _slight_ exaggeration, considering it has only been two days. Mostly he's using it as a distraction from the warmth of a person a foot away from him. That's something he actually isn't used to. That’s how he expected it to stay, too - both of them sticking to one side. It doesn’t even take five minutes for that to change, Mikey rolling onto his side so he’s facing him.

“C’mere.”

Who’s he to say no to that?

The third night, it turns out, is the best of all. It’s the most comfortable he’s been in a long time, wrapped up in Mikey’s arms, his head resting on his shoulder. He falls asleep with a heartbeat in his ears and a whispered exchange of _I love you,_ and it’s the best feeling in the world, probably.

-

It takes a second to register when he wakes up, like, where he is and who that is and, oh. Okay. Yeah. He moves just enough that he doesn’t think he’s going to wake Mikey, but so he isn’t laying half on top of him anymore - which is most definitely not how he remembers falling asleep, but that’s irrelevant.

Mikey looks… soft like this. Peaceful. It’s kind of a lot, and Jake can’t stop staring, because this isn’t a situation he saw himself ending up in. One he wanted to, sure, but he never would have actually expected it. He also wouldn’t have expected how pretty Mikey’s eyelashes looked, or how he’s still smiling just slightly, even asleep.

He moves back to the way he woke up, not willing to risk what he might do if he stares at his lips any longer.

Jake absently plays with the collar of the shirt Mikey’s wearing - his shirt, the one he wore so much the fabric seems like it shouldn’t even be able to stay together, the logo on it all but gone - and he thinks about the past year. He thinks about how, just barely over a year ago, he sat on a swing in the woods and wished for something, _anything_ resembling exactly what this is. He thinks about a bar in Newark and a half-assed but genuine apology, and a bar in Pittsburgh and a real, proper one. About texts and phone calls and Justin dumping Mikey off at his door, and the rock and _I love you._ That’s where it could end, really, with just those words. That’s what it all boils down to. But it didn’t stop in a hotel parking lot. He thinks about the playoffs, and the still there ache of the loss, but the hug that lessened the blow, just a little. _Love you._ He thinks about the cardinal in the tree, and the way everything settled in his chest. _I’m in love with Mikey._

Now _that_ is where it ends.

Except it really isn’t, is it?

Because he has all these things after that, too. Bated breath watching a team that isn’t his power their way through the playoffs, a house that's not yet a home, flashlights and treasure maps, feeling the defeat of that team that isn't his like it was his own, tears spilling onto a shoulder while a home is built around where he stood, sitting in the living room and piecing together cheap furniture, _I love you_ \- half asleep and finding the promise of coffee, more coffee and sweet domesticity, and sharing the pasta, and _just come sleep in the fucking bed with me, Jakes._

It all leads back to that one thing, though. All roads lead to Rome, and every day of the past year leads to Mikey, leads to a realisation had in a place close enough to Jake’s heart that it might as well be the beat in his chest itself.

_I’m in love with Mikey._

The swing really is where his heart is, he thinks, and. Well, his heart is something he’d like to share with Mikey.

He lifts his head when he feels the other stir slightly, and when Mikey opens his eyes, he smiles softly and practically hums, “mornin’ lil bird,” reaching up to run a hand through Jake’s hair.

_I’m in love with Mikey._

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Jake smiles back, flattening the hand that was playing with his shirt against his chest.

“You’re small. ‘N a penguin. That makes you a little bird.”

He laughs at that, just a small thing that’s mostly air, and he’s so fond of this boy it hurts. “I guess.”

He puts his head back down and they lay there in silence while Mikey plays with his hair, and he doesn’t even really register that he’s saying it before “is it okay if we go on a walk today? There’s something I wanna show you” is already in the air.

“Sounds good to me,” and Jake can feel the vibration of the words as they’re said. “Is it exciting?”

“Not really,” he says honestly.

“That’s okay.”

_I’m in love with Mikey._

They just lay in bed for nearly a half hour after that, not saying anything, and Jake can’t for the life of him remember the last time he’s felt this… at peace. Maybe he hadn’t. It wouldn’t really be all that surprising, frankly. He tries not to let himself think about how, in just a few short days, he’s going to be back to waking up alone in an empty house.

“I’m gonna miss you, mouse.”

“Me too, Jakes.”

It takes another hour or so after they finally get up to be ready to head out, Jake poking fun at Mikey for wearing a hoodie in the middle of the summer, but he shrugs it off with “what’s wrong with being warm?”

Which, there’s a difference between _warm_ and a hoodie in the summer, but he’s not about to argue it. Seems pretty pointless, especially when he steals one of Jake’s Pens hats, puts it on backwards, and then puts on sunglasses too. He’s just a lost cause in general, evidently.

It’s a good look, at least. He won’t deny that. Then again, he doesn’t really know what _isn’t_ a good look on Mikey, so it doesn’t say all that much.

Mikey takes his hand the moment they start walking down the sidewalk, and it seems like such a small thing anymore; it still makes his stomach flip, because they're outside and they're holding hands casually while walking down the street, and  _god_ Jake fucking loves him.

“I’m glad I didn’t really talk to you that night,” Jake says, looking up at the clouds.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“C’mon,” he squeezes his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I dunno. If I did, maybe we wouldn’t be friends, is all.”

“I’d like to think we would be anyway,” Mikey says, quiet.

“Me too.” Honestly, he can’t imagine a life without Mikey in it. They would have ended up here eventually. He believes that, because Mikey is it for him. Endgame. It’s probably foolish to think that, but that won’t stop him. Not when he has no real reason to think otherwise. Okay, fine, there's Alex, but that was different, and  _no,_  they aren't even dating, but still, it's something he can't shake. It feels like a fact of the universe, something written in the very fabric of their reality. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mikey smiles over at him, and he can’t help but think maybe he’s thinking the same thing. Endgame.

For the rest of the short walk, he tries not to think too much about this, and like, it’d be incredibly easy to back out. Just tell Mikey he wanted to show him the park, or something. It’d be easy enough to get away with, considering he hadn’t said what exactly he was showing him. In the end, he knows this is the right thing to do. He trusts Mikey.

“So this, the uh- the thing I wanna show you,” he starts, swallowing.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t, like, laugh at me or anything,” Jake says nervously, partially wishing he could just stuff his hands in his pockets for comfort, but he’s not willing to let go of his hand to do that.

“That’s my job, though,” Mikey jokes before bumping their shoulders together, turning serious. “I won’t laugh at you.”

“This- I-” he starts as they get to the park, wanting to explain some of why he was so nervous before they even got to the treeline. “I’ve never shown anyone this.”

“Ooo, so I’m special,” he grins and rolls his eyes when Jake shoots him an unimpressed look. “Relax, Jakes.”

They get to the edge of the woods and Jake pauses, staring into the trees for a moment before taking a deep breath. This feels so big, like, stupid big. _Stupid_ because, realistically, he knows it is hardly anywhere near a big deal. It’s just a swing. A plank of wood and some rope tied to a tree. He didn’t even put it there, just found it.

But it was _his_ place for so long, and Mikey is… Mikey. So it’s a big deal. He just hopes he doesn’t think it’s as stupid as it feels.

Mikey doesn’t say anything until he’s being tugged into the trees, lightly joking when he asks “are you going to kill me? ‘Cause this isn’t how I wanna go,” as he takes off and pockets his sunglasses.

“No, I’m not gonna-” he stops when they get to the little clearing. “Here.”

“A swing?”

“Yeah, it’s-” he starts, wanting to rush into explaining himself so he doesn’t look like some kind of idiot, but before he can, Mikey immediately sits down on it and grins up at Jake.

“Push me?”

He laughs, relieved. “You don’t know how to swing?”

“Of course I do. I just want you to push me.”

“Lazy,” he rolls his eyes, fond, but he moves to stand behind him and pushes his back. “How does Nate tolerate you?”

“I’m lovable.”

The anxiety he’d had since he found the spot about anyone else finding it - or deliberately bringing someone here - melted away all at once as Mikey laughs, claiming he could _easily_ kick at the bottom branches of the trees if Jake would just try a little harder and push him hard enough, no matter how much Jake argued that he’d fall off or somehow flip over.

He’s made the right choice. _Mikey_ is the right choice.

Mikey drags his heels and stops, leaning back so his head is rested against Jake’s stomach, grinning that dumb too-big smile that takes up so much space on his face - the one Jake has been unable to forget since day one. Not that he’d ever tried, really.

“I love you,” Jake says, and it’s never felt so… genuine, which doesn’t make any sense, because he’s meant it every time he’s said it.

“I love you too, loser.”

Jake moves so he’s stood in front of him, and Mikey takes both of his hands, swinging them lightly between them.

“You said you never showed anyone this place?”

“You’re the first,” he confirms.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Both things I guess,” Mikey shrugs and squeezes his hands. “Not tell anyone? And why me?”

He doesn’t answer the first question, not when the second one somehow earned a response without his brain offering a single thought on the matter.

“It wanted me to bring you here.”

“It…” he says slowly, not judgmental, but curious, and that lifts a small weight off of Jake’s chest.

“The forest,” he clarifies, and he takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“Tell me,” Mikey gives him a small smile, and the weight on his chest gets even lighter, relieved that he isn’t being laughed at. Relieved that Mikey doesn’t think he’s some kind of freak or whatever.

“Okay,” he says, letting go of one of his hands so he can take the little penguin out of the oak tree, handing it to Mikey. “When I was little-”

He goes through everything, from the soccer ball to the timer he held in his hand, to the promise he’d made and the baby deer. To Alex, and Mikey had squeezed his hand so tightly throughout that whole part of the story that it actually hurt. He tells him about the summer before he left for the AHL, about sitting right there and dreaming about what he’d end up doing in a few short months.

The past summer.

The red flowers - he’d played with the sleeve of Mikey’s red Devils hoodie during that part.

The rock.

“The one in your room? The warm one?” he asks, looking up at Jake, his eyebrows furrowed.

“It was never warm to me, Mikey.”

Mikey looks away from his face, then, choosing instead to stare at the timer in his hand. The silence hangs between them, and Jake kind of feels like he needs to curl up in a ball. He laid it all out there, not once even considering leaving out how badly he’d wanted someone he felt like he could share this part of his life with, this thing that had been so important to him for so long. He doesn't even pretend that saying that alone was more telling than anything else he'd said the entire time they've known each other.

“Me?” Mikey finally says to break the silence, barely above a whisper.

There’s a lot in that one word, and he understands all of it. Every question condensed into one.

“You,” Jake confirms, ‘cause Mikey is the answer to every question, as far as he’s concerned.

He looks up at him again, and his eyes are so bright and expressive and Jake just… he’s filled with so much- everything.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he questions, genuinely confused. He didn’t do anything. Frankly, if anyone should be thanking the other, _he_ should thank Mikey for taking this in stride and not being a dick, even though he knows Mikey well enough to know he wouldn't have actually done that.

Mikey makes a face like he’s considering his reply, but in the end he lets go of Jake’s other hand, grabbing at the collar of his shirt so he can pull him down, and suddenly Mikey’s lips are on his and Jake’s brain can’t catch up.

“I’m supposed to say sorry for doing that, I think,” Mikey mumbles when he pulls away, “but I’m definitely not.”

“Me neither,” he replies, breathless.

“Good,” he whispers before closing the gap between their mouths again.

They’re both laughing when they separate again, and  _I'm in love with Mikey._

A cardinal - maybe the same one from his first day back, who knows - lands in the oak tree, and he’s pretty sure this is exactly how everything was meant to work out for him. The bird sings his song, and Mikey’s forehead is warm where it’s pressed against his, and this- this right here… This is the reason he found the swing all those years ago.

Not to get drafted to the Penguins, or to win the Cup with them, but to find Mikey, and to bring him here.

“Do you think we can both fit on this thing?”

“Let’s not break it,” Jake laughs, and Mikey pouts at him, and he has no option but to kiss it away.

-

That night, Mikey’s laying in the bed on Skype with Ryan and Nate when Jake’s so tired he’s about ready to fall over. When he climbs in beside him, barely awake as it is, Mikey looks fondly at him.

“Do you need me to go into the other room?”

“Nah,” he yawns, “you’re fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Mhm. Positive,” Jake leans over and presses a light kiss to Mikey’s lips, still reeling at being able to do that now. No amount of exhaustion could lessen that. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He settles in, then, barely catching some of the call before he falls asleep.

_“Hey, yeah, uh-”_

_“What the fuck, Michael?”_

_“What he said.”_

Mikey laughs, “oh yeah, so _that’s_ what I was gonna tell you.”

-

They go back again the night before Mikey flies back out to Mississauga, and it’s not even Jake’s idea. Mikey sits on the swing, and Jake sits at the base of the maple tree, and they sit in silence for longer than they ever have. It feels almost too serene to interrupt, but Jake can’t help it when he remembers something that makes him laugh quietly to himself.

“What?” Mikey asks softly, smiling the little smile of his that Jake might like better than the giant grin. As if there’s any point in trying to decide what his favourite thing about this boy is.

“I used to think time was different here. Forty-five minutes would pass in three, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d spend forever here.”

“Like you stepped in a fairy ring?”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t what happens when you step in a fairy ring,” Jake says, picking at the grass at his side, “but you’ve got the idea.”

They’re quiet again after that, and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to come here alone anymore after seeing Mikey here. It isn’t _his_ place anymore. It’s theirs.

They both yawn at the same time, and he doesn’t want to leave, wants to stay here forever, wants Mikey to stay with him instead of going back home, but he knows it’s getting late and they should head back. He stands up, and Mikey holds his hands out for Jake to help him off the swing as though he needed it - he obliges, though, of course he does.

Before they leave, Mikey pats the trunk of the maple tree a couple of times.

“Why’d you do that?”

He shrugs and takes Jake’s hand. “I wanted to thank it, I guess.”

Jake… well, he’d never told Mikey that he did that, and the fact that he did it just-

_I’m in love with Mikey._

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maybe he just hadn’t noticed them before, but it feels like suddenly the trees around them are lit by more fireflies than he’d seen in one place, like fairy lights just for them. He knew before that Mikey was what he’d been looking for, but now it feels real.

Mikey’s what the forest was looking for, too. Mikey and his magic that flows through him like a bubbling stream that he could swear he actually hears. Maybe there is one. If it hasn't always been there, maybe it's there now. Maybe that's the reason this place is now  _theirs_ instead of just  _his._ The magic here has always been a boy and his swing and his trees and the birds singing in the breeze, but now it's those things along with someone the boy loves more than anything and his magic flowing through it like a stream. Jake never thought the  _forest_ itself was missing anything, but-

Such is the magic of Michael McLeod.

There’s a little wooden swing in the woods by Jake’s childhood home, and if home is where the heart is, then this is it. But maybe it isn’t the swing, or the woods, or the neighbourhood, or even the house and its bricks. If home is where the heart is, then home might just be Mikey.

**Author's Note:**

> I uh. I was really _really_ lazy with the editing of this fic so I'm sorry if it's a mess. I know the fic itself is a mess. I dunno how to feel about it, bc it's been almost done since march, and completely done n only needing slightly edited since new years eve. this fuckin thing is the reason I haven't posted or written anything since may bc I really struggled with it bc of a bunch of Life Issues and going through some periods where I fucking hated this fic lol
> 
> anyway, thank you so much if you managed to stick with it until the end, and I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> (in case you're wondering, Jake goes to Missy for a few days before they have to go to their camps at the end of the summer, and the mcleods love him and he loves them too)
> 
> catch me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/alcoholnregret) and [tumblr](http://www.sidnate.tumblr.com)


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